There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.
Admiration and familiarity are strangers.
Oh Time! the beautifier of the dead, adorer of the ruin, comforter and only healer when the heart hath bled… Time, the avenger!
Lonesome. Lonesome. I know what it means. Here all by my lonesome, dreaming empty dreams.
The stable wears out a horse more than the road.
For the merchant, even honesty is a financial speculation.
She who waits for her knight must remember – she will have to clean up after his horse
The windmill motion is very natural for females and it is very comfortable. It actually feels better to pitch every day than to take a few days off and then pitch.
The bards sublime, / Whose distant footsteps echo / Through the corridors of Time.