There Is Nothing In Which People More

To Live Within Limits. To Want One Thing. Or A Few Things Very Much And Love Them Dearly. Cling To Them, Survey Them From Every Angle. Become One With Them - That Is What Makes The Poet, The Artist, The Human Being.

He Who Is Wise Puts Aside All Claims Which May Dissipate His Attention, And Confining Himself To One Branch Excels In That.

National Literature Does Not Mean Much These Days; Now Is The Age Of World Literature, And Every One Must Contribute To Hasten Thearrival Of That Age.

What Is Now The Foliage Moving? Air Is Still, And Hush'd The Breeze, Sultriness, This Fullness Loving, Through The Thicket, From The Trees. Now The Eye At Once Gleams Brightly, See! The Infant Band With Mirth Moves And Dances Nimbly, Lightly, As The Morning Gave It Birth, Flutt'ring Two And Two O'er Earth.

Every Need Whose True Satisfaction Is Denied Leads By Necessity To Faith.