The Wind Is Not Helpless For Any

The Wind Is Not Helpless For Any Man's Need, Nor Falleth The Rain But For Thistle And Weed.

My Work Is The Embodiment Of Dreams In One Form Or Another.

I Know A Little Garden Close Set Thick With Lily And Red Rose, Where I Would Wander If I Might From Dewy Dawn To Dewy Night. And Have One With Me Wandering.

Beauty, Which Is What Is Meant By Art, Using The Word In Its Widest Sense, Is, I Contend, No Mere Accident To Human Life, Which People Can Take Or Leave As They Choose, But A Positive Necessity Of Life.

By God! I Will Not Tell You More To-day, Judge Any Way You Will - What Matters It?