And a poet said, Speak to us of Beauty. And he answered:

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and the injured say, “Beauty is kind and gentle. Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us.” And the passionate say, “Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.”

The tired and the weary say…

Once, there lived a couple who loved to collect antiques. They were always on the look out for items to add to their collection. One day, they saw a beautiful teacup in a small antique shop. They asked the sales lady, “May we see that teacup? We’ve never seen one quite so beautiful.” As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke.

“You see, I haven’t always been a teacup. There was a time when I was just red clay. My master took me and rolled me and patted me over and over. I yelled out, ‘Leave me alone,’ but he only smiled, ‘Not yet.’ Then I was placed on a spinning wheel, and suddenly I was spun around and around and around. ‘Stop it! I’m getting dizzy!’ I screamed. But the master only nodded and said, ‘Not yet.’’ Then he put me in the oven. I never felt such heat. I wondered why he wanted to burn me, and I yelled and knocked at the door. I could see him through the opening, and I could read his lips, as he shook his head, ‘Not yet.’