We call that person who has lost his father an orphan and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.
The happiness which is lacking makes one think even the happiness one has unbearable.
Our experience is composed rather of illusions that of wisdom acquired.
Experience comprises illusions lost rather than wisdom gained.
Poetry is the exquisite expression of exquisite expressions.
Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.
Science is for those who learn poetry is for those who know.