And Each Separate Dying Ember Wrought Its

Imperceptibly The Love Of These Discords Grew Upon Me As My Love Of Music Grew Stronger.

If A Poem Hasn't Ripped Apart Your Soul; You Haven't Experienced Poetry.

A Short Story Must Have A Single Mood And Every Sentence Must Build Towards It.

A Man's Grammar, Like Caesar's Wife, Must Not Only Be Pure, But Above Suspicion Of Impurity.

I Could Have Clasped The Red Walls To My Bosom As A Garment Of Eternal Peace. "death," I Said, "any Death But That Of The Pit!" Fool! Might I Have Not Known That Into The Pit It Was The Object Of The Burning Iron To Urge Me?