Happiness: We Rarely Feel It.

Great Emotion Always Tends To Become Rhythmic, And Out Of That Tendency The Forms Of Art Have Been Evolved. Art Becomes Artificial Only When The Forms Take Precedence Over The Emotion.

When I Go Away From You The World Beats Dead Like A Slackened Drum.

I Know That A Creed Is The Shell Of A Lie.

Brighter Than Fireflies Upon The Uji River Are Your Words In The Dark, Beloved.

Can You See Through The Night, Woman, That You Stare So Upon It? Man, What Sparks Do Your Eyes Follow In The Smouldering Darkness?