It Is Only Through Mystery

Humility, That Low, Sweet Root, From Which All Heavenly Virtues Shoot.

When We Relate To Our Bodies As Having Soul, We Attend To Their Beauty, Their Poetry And Their Expressiveness. Our Very Habit Of Treating The Body As A Machine, Whose Muscles Are Like Pulleys And Its Organs Engines, Forces Its Poetry Underground, So That We Experience The Body As An Instrument And See Its Poetics Only In Illness.

Usually, The Main Problem With Life Conundrums Is That We Don't Bring To Them Enough Imagination

I Have Plenty Of Machinery Around Me; What I Really Need Is A More Enchanting World In Which To Live And Work.

It Is Not While Beauty And Youth Are Thine Own And Thy Cheeks Unprofaned By A Tear That The Ferver And Faith Of A Soul Can Be Known To Which Time Will But Make Thee More Dear No The Heart That Has Truly Loved Never Forgets But As Truly Loves On To The Close As The Sunflower Turns On Her God When He Sets The Same Look Which She'd Turned When He Rose.