But I say, “A bird and a feather in the bush are worth more than ten birds in the hand.”
Your seeking after that feather is life with winged feet; nay, it is life itself.
There are only two elements here, beauty and truth;
beauty in the hearts of lovers, and truth in the arms of the tillers of the soil.
Great beauty captures me, but a beauty still greater frees me even from itself.
Beauty shines brighter in the heart of him who longs for it than in the eyes of him who sees it.
I admire him who reveals his mind to me; I honor him who unveils his dreams.
But why am I shy, and even a little ashamed before him who serves me?
The gifted were once proud in serving princes. Now they claim honor in serving paupers.
The angels know that too many practical men eat their bread with the sweat of the dreamer’s brow.
Wit is often a mask. If you could tear it you would find either a genius irritated or cleverness juggling.
The understanding attributes to me understanding and the dull, dullness. I think they are both right.
Only those with secrets in their hearts could divine the secrets in our hearts.
He who would share your pleasure but not your pain shall lose the key to one of the seven gates of paradise.
Yes, there is a Nirvana; it is in leading your sheep to a green pasture, and in putting your child to sleep, and in writing the last line of your poem.
We choose our joys and our sorrows long before we experience them.