When A Man's Hand Touches

If Your Knowledge Teaches You Not To Rise Above Human Weakness And Misery And Lead Your Fellow Man On The Right Path, You Are Indeed A Man Of Little Worth And Will Remain Such Till Judgment Day.

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.

Lovers Embrace That Which Is Between Them Rather Than Each Other.

It Is Slavery To Live In The Mind Unless It Has Become Part Of The Body

You Shall Be Free Indeed When Your Days Are Not Without A Care, Nor Your Nights Without A Want And A Grief, But Rather When These Things Girdle Your Life And Yet You Rise Above Them Naked And Unbound.