Forever Is Made Up Of Nows.

I Felt It Shelter To Speak To You.

I Had No Time To Hate, Because The Grave Would Hinder Me, And Life Was Not So Ample I Could Finish Enmity Nor Had I Time To Love: But Since Some Industry Must Be, The Little Toil Of Love, I Thought, Was Large Enough For Me.

If I Feel Physically As If The Top Of My Head Were Taken Off, I Know That Is Poetry.

Portraits Are To Daily Faces As An Evening West To A Fine, Pedantic Sunshine In A Satin Vest.

To Travel Far, There Is No Better Ship Than A Book.