Art was a palace once, things great and fair

There’s too much beauty upon this earth For lonely men to bear.

A paradox is a truth standing on its head in order to attract attention.

Time’s horses gallop down the lessening hill.

Dear Sister, You dream like mad, you love like tinder, you aspire like a star-struck moth - for what? That you may hive little lyrics, and sell to a publisher for thirty pieces of silver.

Yea, howso we dream, Or how bravely we do; The end is the same, Be we traitor or true: And after the bloom And the passion is past

Tea is a work of art and needs a master hand to bring out its noblest qualities.