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People Who Dream When They Sleep At Night Know Of A Special Kind Of Happiness Which The World Of The Day Holds Not, A Placid Ecstasy, And Ease Of Heart, That Are Like Honey On The Tongue. They Also Know That The Real Glory Of Dreams Lies In Their Atmosphere Of Unlimited Freedom. It Is Not The Freedom Of The Dictator, Who Enforces His Own Will On The World, But The Freedom Of The Artist, Who Has No Will, Who Is Free Of Will.

One Must In This Lower World Love Many Things To Know Finally What One Loves The Best.

The Air Was Cold To The Lungs, The Long Grass Dripping Wet, And The Herbs On It Gave Out Their Spiced Astringent Scent. In A Little While On All Sides The Cicada Would Begin To Sing. The Grass Was Me , And The Air, The Distant Invisible Mountains Were Me, The Tired Oxen Were Me. I Breathed With The Slight Night-wind In The Thorn Trees.

The Flamingoes Are The Most Delicately Colored Of All The African Birds, Pink And Red Like A Flying Twig Of An Oleander Bush. They Have Incredibly Long Legs And Bizarre And Recherché Curves Of Their Necks And Bodies, As If From Some Exquisite Traditional Prudery They Were Making All Attitudes And Movements In Life As Difficult As Possible.

One May Take Many Liberties With God Which One Cannot Take With Men.