Freighted With Hope, Crimsoned With Joy, We

Happiness, To Some, Is Elation; To Others It Is Mere Stagnation.

Oh! To Be A Butterfly Still, Upon A Flower, Winking With Its Painted Wings, Happy In The Hour.

Rapture's Self Is Three Parts Sorrow.

Poetry Is The Most Concentrated Form Of Literature; It Is The Most Emotionalized And Powerful Way In Which Thought Can Be Presented.

All Recurring Joy Is Pain Refined.