Nothing Ever Becomes Real Till It Is

Four Seasons Fill The Measure Of The Year; There Are Four Seasons In The Minds Of Men.

Whatever The Imagination Seizes As Beauty Must Be Truth -whether It Existed Before Or Not

Ask Yourself My Love Whether You Are Not Very Cruel To Have So Entrammelled Me, So Destroyed My Freedom. Will You Confess This In The Letter You Must Write Immediately, And Do All You Can To Console Me In It — Make It Rich As A Draught Of Poppies To Intoxicate Me —write The Softest Words And Kiss Them That I May At Least Touch My Lips Where Yours Have Been. For Myself I Know Not How To Express My Devotion To So Fair A Form: I Want A Brighter Word Than Bright, A Fairer Word Than Fair.

So Rainbow-sided, Touch'd With Miseries, She Seem'd, At Once, Some Penanced Lady Elf, Some Demon's Mistress, Or The Demon's Self.

For Axioms In Philosophy Are Not Axioms Until They Are Proved Upon Our Pulses.