All Writing Is A Form Of Prayer.

... For, By All The Stars That Tend Thy Bidding, I Do Think The Bars That Kept My Spirit In Are Burst - That I Am Sailing With Thee Through The Dizzy Sky! How Beautiful Thou Art!

Let Us Open Our Leaves Like A Flower, And Be Passive And Receptive.

I Cannot See What Flowers Are At My Feet, Nor What Soft Incense Hangs Upon The Boughs, But, In Embalmed Darkness, Guess Each Sweet.

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.

Do You Not See How Necessary A World Of Pains And Troubles Is To School An Intelligence And Make It A Soul?