To Wonder Is To Begin To Understand.

Man's Being Is Made Of Such Strange Stuff As To Be Partly Akin To Nature And Partly Not, At Once Natural And Extranatural, A Kind Of Ontological Centaur, Half Immersed In Nature, Half Transcending It.

We Live At A Time When Man Believes Himself Fabulously Capable Of Creation, But He Does Not Know What To Create.

Man Adapts Himself To Everything, To The Best And The Worst.

If The Human Intellect Functions, It Is Actually In Order To Solve The Problems Which The Man's Inner Destiny Sets It.

Poetry Is Adolescence Fermented, And Thus Preserved.