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The only time I feel alive is when I\'m painting.
Vincent Van Gogh
Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our
being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
T. S. Eliot

Status quo, you know, that is Latin for the mess we\'re in.
Ronald Reagan

LXVIII



Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,

When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,

Before these bastard signs of fair were born,

Or durst inhabit on a living brow;

Before the golden tresses of the dead,

The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,

To live a second life on second head;

Ere beauty\'s dead fleece made another gay: 

In him those holy antique hours are seen,

Without all ornament, itself and true,

Making no summer of another\'s green,

Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;

  And him as for a map doth Nature store,

  To show false Art what beauty was of yore.

 	--William Shakespeare