What angels invented these splendid ornaments, these rich conveniences, this ocean of air above, this ocean of water beneath, this firmament of earth between? this zodiac of lights, this tent of dropping clouds, this striped coat of climates, this fourfold year?
(Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), U.S. essayist, poet, philosopher. Nature, ch. 2 (1836, revised and repr. 1849).)
'The place I will never be able to visit in this lifetime. (Korea) But a place I will love forever. The great distance, the distance of mountains and oceans between us is like touching a dream a star in the sky.'
Poetry, as I opine, is a toddling of a lad, a walking of a man, and a wandering of a shark in the ocean of an unusual arrangement of one's thought on the back of his mind, tongue, and before then sometimes, his laid words like a sign of passion on a dimpled night.