No One's Serious At Seventeen.

I Saw That All Beings Are Fated To Happiness: Action Is Not Life, But A Way Of Wasting Some Force, An Enervation. Morality Is The Weakness Of The Brain.

Is It In These Bottomless Nights That You Sleep In Exile?

There Shall Be Poets! When Woman's Unmeasured Bondage Shall Be Broken, When She Shall Live For And Through Herself, Man--hitherto Detestable--having Let Her Go, She, Too, Will Be Poet! Woman Will Find The Unknown! Will Her Ideational Worlds Be Different From Ours? She Will Come Upon Strange, Unfathomable, Repellent, Delightful Things; We Shall Take Them, We Shall Comprehend Them.

A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn

You Feel On Your Lips A Kiss Fluttering, A Tiny Scrap Of Life.