In Truth You Owe Naught To Any

A Man's True Wealth Is The Good He Does In The World.

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.

Every Beauty And Greatness In This World Is Created By A Single Thought Or Emotion Inside A Man. Every Thing We See Today, Made By Past Generations, Was, Before Its Appearance, A Thought In The Mind Of A Man Or An Impulse In The Heart Of A Woman.

For Love Is Sufficient Unto Love.

You May Give Them Your Love But Not Your Thoughts, For They Have Their Own Thoughts. You May House Their Bodies But Not Their Souls, For Their Souls Dwell In The House Of Tomorrow, Which You Cannot Visit, Not Even In Your Dreams.