Now The Ears Of My

Let Must Or If Be Damned With Whomever's Afraid Down With Ought With Because With Every Brain Which Thinks It Thinks, Nor Dares To Feel.

The Artist Is Not A Man Who Describes, But A Man Who Feels.

Deeds Cannot Dream What Dreams Can Do

When Skies Are Hanged And Oceans Drowned, The Single Secret Will Still Be Man

If A Poet Is Anybody, He Is Somebody To Whom Things Made Matter Very Little - Somebody Who Is Obsessed By Making.