All Is Born Of Water; All Is

Sometimes Our Fate Resembles A Fruit Tree In Winter. Who Would Think That Those Branches Would Turn Green Again And Blossom, But We Hope It, We Know It.

All Poetry Is Supposed To Be Instructive But In An Unnoticeable Manner; It Is Supposed To Make Us Aware Of What It Would Be Valuable To Instruct Ourselves In; We Must Deduce The Lesson On Our Own, Just As With Life.

The Art Of Living Rightly Is Like All Arts; It Must Be Learned And Practiced With Incessant Care.

If I Work Incessantly To The Last, Nature Owes Me Another Form Of Existence When The Present One Collapses.

My Poor Head Is In Such A Whirl, My Mind Is All In Bits.