Nature hates calculators. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

The secret of poetry is never explained - is always new. We have not got farther than mere wonder at the delicacy of the touch, & the eternity it inherits. In every house a child that in mere play utters oracles, & knows not that they are such. 'Tis as easy as breath. 'Tis like this gravity, which holds the Universe together, & none knows what it is.

Whatever games are played with us, we must play no games with ourselves, but deal in our privacy with the last honesty and truth.

My life is for itself and not for a spectacle.