Come Away; Poverty's Catching.

All I Ask, Is The Privilege For My Masculine Part The Poet In Me.... If I Must Not, Because Of My Sex, Have This Freedom... I Lay Down My Quill And You Shall Hear No More Of Me.

Fantastic Fortune Thou Deceitful Light, That Cheats The Weary Traveler By Night, Though On A Precipice Each Step You Tread, I Am Resolved To Follow Where You Lead.

Each Moment Of A Happy Lover's Hour Is Worth An Age Of Dull And Common Life.

As Love Is The Most Noble And Divine Passion Of The Soul, So Is It That To Which We May Justly Attribute All The Real Satisfactions Of Life, And Without It, Man Is Unfinished, And Unhappy.

A Poet Is A Painter In His Way, He Draws To The Life, But In Another Kind; We Draw The Nobler Part, The Soul And The Mind; The Pictures Of The Pen Shall Outlast Those Of The Pencil, And Even Worlds Themselves.