Death Is The Universal Salt Of States;

Surely The Stars Are Images Of Love.

A Poet Not In Love Is Out At Sea; He Must Have A Lay-figure.

Love Spends His All, And Still Hath Store.

The World Is A Great Poem, And The World's The Words It Is Writ In, And We Souls The Thoughts.

Sorrow Is A Stone That Crushes A Single Bearer To The Ground, While Two Are Able To Carry It With Ease.