Reality, As Usual, Beats Fiction Out Of

Some Of Us, Regarding The Ocean With Understanding And Affection, Have Seen It Looking Old, As If The Immemorial Ages Had Been Stirred Up From The Undisturbed Bottom Of Ooze. For It Is A Gale Of Wind That Makes The Sea Look Old.

The True Peace Of God Begins At Any Spot A Thousand Miles From The Nearest Land.

The End (goal) Of Art Is To Figure The Hidden Meaning Of Things And Not Their Appearance; For In This Profound Truth Lies Their True Reality, Which Does Not Appear In Their External Outlines.

All Roads Are Long Which Lead To One's Heart's Desire.

A Man That Is Born Falls Into A Dream Like A Man Who Falls Into The Sea.