Death Will Come When Thou Art Dead,

Swiftly Walk O'er The Western Wave, Spirit Of Night! Out Of The Misty Eastern Cave, Where, All The Long And Lone Daylight, Thou Wovest Dreams Of Joyand Fear, Which Make Thee Terrible And Dear, Swift Be Thy Flight!

The Soul's Joy Lies In Doing.

Poetry Lifts The Veil From The Hidden Beauty Of The World, And Makes Familiar Objects Be As If They Were Not Familiar.

I Am Convinced That There Can Be No Regeneration Of Mankind Until Laughter Is Put Down.

The Wise Want Love; And Those Who Love Want Wisdom.