One Can't Carry One's Father's Corpse About

Without Poets, Without Artists... Everything Would Fall Apart Into Chaos. There Would Be No More Seasons, No More Civilizations, No More Thought, No More Humanity, No More Life Even; And Impotent Darkness Would Reign Forever. Poets And Artists Together Determine The Features Of Their Age, And The Future Meekly Conforms To Their Edit.

How Slow Life Is, How Violent Hope Is.

In This Mirror, I Am Enclosed A Live And Real As You. Imagine Angels And Not Like The Reflections.

We Cannot Carry Our Father's Corpse With Us Everywhere We Go.

Without Artists, The Order Which We Find In Nature, And Which Is Only An Effect Of Art, Would At Once Vanish.