Art Is Long, And Time Is Fleeting.

My Soul Is Full Of Longing For The Secret Of The Sea, And The Heart Of The Great Ocean Sends A Thrilling Pulse Through Me.

The Tragic Element In Poetry Is Like Saturn In Alchemy, — The Malevolent, The Destroyer Of Nature ; But Without It No True Aurum Potabile, Or Elixir Of Life, Can Be Made.

'twas Easter-sunday. The Full-blossomed Trees Filled All The Air With Fragrance And With Joy.

The Strength Of Criticism Lies In The Weakness Of The Thing Criticized.

All Nature ... Is A Respiration Of The Spirit Of God, Who, In Breathing Hereafter Will Inhale It Into His Bosom Again, So That Nothing But God Alone Will Remain.