Our Bodies Are Molded Rivers.

How Do We See Physically? No Differently That We Do In Our Consciousness - By Means Of The Productive Power Of Imagination. Consciousness Is The Eye And Ear, The Sense For Inner And Outer Meaning.

Where Children Are, There Is The Golden Age.

Only An Artist Can Interpret The Meaning Of Life.

The Art Of Writing Books Is Not Yet Invented. But It Is At The Point Of Being Invented. Fragments Of This Nature Are Literary Seeds. There May Be Many An Infertile Grain Among Them: Nevertheless, If Only Some Come Up!

Building Worlds Is Not Enough For The Deeper Urging Mind; But A Loving Heart Sates The Striving Spirit.