Your House Is Your Larger Body.

For If You Bake Bread With Indifference, You Bake A Bitter Bread That Feeds But Half Man's Hunger.

The Poet Is A Bird Of Strange Moods. He Descends From His Lofty Domain To Tarry Among Us, Singing; If We Do Not Honor Him He Will Unfold His Wings And Fly Back To His Dwelling Place.

If Your Heart Is A Volcano, How Shall You Expect Flowers To Bloom?

That Which Seems Most Feeble And Bewildered In You Is The Strongest And Most Determined. Is It Not Your Breath That Has Erected And Hardened The Structure Of Your Bones?

For Life Goes Not Backward, Nor Tarries With Yesterday.