If Only These Treasures Were

If You Have A Great Work In Your Head, Nothing Else Thrives Near It; All Other Thoughts Are Repelled, And The Pleasure Of Life Itself Is For The Time Lost.

Art Is A Mediator Of The Unspeakable.

To Know Of Someone Here And There Whom We Accord With, Who Is Living On With Us, Even In Silence - - This Makes Our Earthly Ball A Peopled Garden.

Pain And Pleasure, Good And Evil, Come To Us From Unexpected Sources. It Is Not There Where We Have Gathered Up Our Brightest Hopes, That The Dawn Of Happiness Breaks. It Is Not There Where We Have Glanced Our Eye With Affright, That We Find The Deadliest Gloom. What Should This Teach Us? To Bow To The Great And Only Source Of Light, And Live Humbly And With Confiding Resignation.

I Must Consider More Closely This Cycle Of Good And Bad Days Which I Find Coursing Within Myself. Passion, Attachment, The Urge To Action, Inventiveness, Performance, Order All Alternate And Keep Their Orbit; Cheerfulness, Vigor, Energy, Flexibility And Fatigue, Serenity As Well As Desire. Nothing Disturbs The Cycle For I Lead A Simple Life, But I Must Still Find The Time And Order In Which I Rotate.