Dresses cannot write poems
And neither can leaves
Poetry transforms dress and leaves
Into its own language
Dresses remain still
While leaves sway in the wind
Poetry breathes quietly
Between the two
Dresses hold beauty
Leaves contain life
And poetry tries
To remember it all forever

_{- Wisława Szymborska 1991}

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Le coeur a ses raisons que le raison ne connaît point.

to create one's world in any of arts takes courage.

the light is more proportionate to our knowledge than that of day. it is no more dusky in ordinary nights than our mind’s habitual atmosphere, and the moonlight is as bright as our most illuminated moments are.

“in such a night let me abroad remain
till morning breaks, and all ’s confused again.“

_{- henry david thoreau 1863}

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‘We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it, — if it were not the earth where the same flowers come up again every spring that we used to gather with our tiny fingers as we sat lisping to ourselves on the grass. What novelty is worth that sweet monotony where everything is known, and _loved_ because it is known?’
_{- george eliot 1860}