Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a fairy, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Ever felt an angel's breath in the gentle breeze?  A teardrop in the falling rain?  Hear a whisper amongst the rustle of leaves?  Or been kissed by a lone snowflake?  Nature is an angel's favorite hiding place.

Old myths, old Gods, old heroes have never died. They are only sleeping at the bottom of our mind, waiting for our call. We have need for them. They represent the wisdom of our race.

The woods are never solitary--they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

Fantasy, abandoned by reason, produces impossible monsters; united with it, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of marvels.

Those who wish to pet and baby wildlife love them, but those who respect their natures and wish to let them live their natural lives, love them more.

When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return