Building Worlds Is Not Enough

The True Poet Is All-knowing; He Is An Actual World In Miniature.

The Mysterious Path Goes Inward. It Is In Us, And Not Anywhere Else, Where The Eternity Of The Worlds, The Past And The Future Are Found.

It Is Not Merely The Multiplicity Of Tints, The Gladness Of Tone, Or The Balminess Of The Air Which Delight In The Spring; It Is The Still Consecrated Spirit Of Hope, The Prophecy Of Happy Days Yet To Come; The Endless Variety Of Nature, With Presentiments Of Eternal Flowers Which Never Shall Fade, And Sympathy With The Blessedness Of The Ever-developing World.

Mathematics Is The Life Of The Gods.

What Delights, What Pleasures Does Your Life Offer You That Outweigh The Raptures Of Death?