It All Begins When The Soul Would

The Path Of Things Is Silent. Will They Suffer A Speaker To Go With Them?

What Goes On Around You... Compares Little With What Goes On Inside You.

I Like To Be Beholden To The Great Metropolitan English Speech, The Sea Which Receives Tributaries From Every Region Under Heaven.

For Poetry Was All Written Before Time Was, And Whenever We Are So Finely Organized That We Can Penetrate Into That Region Where The Air Is Music, We Hear Those Primal Warblings, And Attempt To Write Them Down, But We Lose Ever And Anon A Word, A Verse, And Substitute Something Of Our Own, And Thus Miswrite The Poem.

Art Is A Jealous Mistress; And If A Man Have A Genius For Painting, Poetry, Music, Architecture Or Philosophy, He Makes A Bad Husband And An Ill Provider.