The Eternal Female Draws Us Onward.

Each Has His Own Happiness In His Hands, As The Artist Handles The Rude Clay He Seeks To Reshape It Into A Figure; Yet It Is The Same With This Art As With All Others: Only The Capacity For It Is Innate; The Art Itself Must Be Learned And Painstakingly Practiced.

Our Mistakes And Failures Are Always The First To Strike Us, And Outweigh In Our Imagination What We Have Accomplished And Attained.

Beauty Can Never Really Understand Itself.

As For What I Have Done As A Poet, I Take No Pride In Whatever. Excellent Poets Have Lived At The Same Time With Me, Poets More Excellent Lived Before Me, And Others Will Come After Me. But That In My Country I Am The Only Person Who Knows The Truth In The Difficult Science Of Colors-of That, I Say, I Am Not A Little Proud, And Here Have A Consciousness Of Superiority To Many.

He Who Enjoys Doing And Enjoys What He Has Done Is Happy.