Poetry Is Man's Rebellion Against Being What

Sad Hours And Glad Hours, And All Hours, Pass Over; One Thing Unshaken Stays: Life, That Hath Death For Spouse, Hath Chance For Lover; Whereby Decays, Each Thing Save One Thing: Mid This Strife Diurnal, Of Hourly Change Begot, Love That Is God-born, Bides As God Eternal, And Changes Not; Nor Means A Tinseled Dream Pursuing Lovers, Find Altered By-and-bye, When, With Possession, Time Anon Discovers, Trapped Dreams Must Die, - For He That Visions God, Of Mankind Gathers, One Manlike Trait Alone, And Reverently Imputes To Him A Father's Love For His Son.

American Literature Was Enriched With Men Who Loved Allison .... Of The Actual And Eventual Worth Of This Romance I Cannot Pretend To Be An Unprejudiced Judge. The Tale Seems To Me One Of Those Many Books Which Have Profited, Very Dubiously Indeed, By Having Obtained, In One Way Of Another, The Repute Of Being Indecent.

If We Assiduously Cultivate Our Powers Of Exaggeration, Perhaps We, Too, Shall Obtain The Paradise Of Liars. And There Raphael Shall Paint For Us Scores And Scores Of His Manifestly Impossible Pictures... And Shakespeare Will Lie To Us Of Fabulous Islands Far Past 'the Still-vex'd Bermoothes,' And Bring Us Fresh Tales From The Coast Of Bohemia. For No One Will Speak The Truth There, And We Shall All Be Perfectly Happy.

For All Men Have But A Little While To Live And None Knows His Fate Thereafter. So That A Man Possesses Nothing Certainly Save A Brief Loan Of His Body: And Yet The Body Of Man Is Capable Of Much Curious Pleasure.

There Is No Escaping, At Times, The Gloomy Suspicion That Fiddling With Pens And Ink Is, After All, No Fit Employment For A Grown Man.