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— Mary Oliver"At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink a long time. It tastes like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?"
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Beautiful things grow to a certain height and then they fail and fade off, breathing out memories as they decay.
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
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Apart from the desire to produce beautiful things, the leading passion of my life has been and is hatred of modern civilization.
— William Morris
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