Even Pain Pricks To Livelier Living.

Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of Man Starves And Dies.

The Stigma Of Oddness Is The Price A Myopic World Always Exacts Of Genius.

Great Emotion Always Tends To Become Rhythmic, And Out Of That Tendency The Forms Of Art Have Been Evolved. Art Becomes Artificial Only When The Forms Take Precedence Over The Emotion.

Guarded Within The Old Red Wall's Embrace, Marshalled Like Soldiers In Gay Company, The Tulips Stand Arrayed. Here Infantry Wheels Out Into The Sunlight.

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.