Hope Not Ever To See Heaven. I

Art, As Far As It Is Able, Follows Nature, As A Pupil Imitates His Master; Thus Your Art Must Be, As It Were, God's Grandchild.

Doubting Pleases Me No Less Than Knowing

As Little Flowers, Which The Chill Of Night Has Bent And Huddled, When The White Sun Strikes, Grow Straight And Open Fully On Their Stems, So Did I, Too, With My Exhausted Force.

Less Shame A Greater Fault Would Palliate.

No Sadness Is Greater Than In Misery To Rehearse Memories Of Joy.