Poetry Is The Devil's Wine.

There Is Another Form Of Temptation, Even More Fraught With Danger. This Is The Disease Of Curiosity. It Is This Which Drives Us To Try And Discover The Secrets Of Nature, Those Secrets Which Are Beyond Our Understanding, Which Can Avail Us Nothing And Which Man Should Not Wish To Learn.

Drunkenness Is A Flattering Devil, A Sweet Poison, A Pleasant Sin, Which Whosoever Hath, Hath Not Himself, Which Whosoever Doth Commit, Doth Not Commit Sin, But He Himself Is Wholly Sin.

The Sufficiency Of My Merit Is To Know That My Merit Is Not Sufficient.

Try As They May To Savor The Taste Of Eternity, Their Thoughts Still Twist And Turn Upon The Ebb And Flow Of Things In Past And Future Time. But If Only Their Minds Could Be Seized And Held Steady, They Would Be Still For A While And, For That Short Moment, They Would Glimse The Splendor Of Eternity, Which Is Forever Still.

Give Me Yourself, O My God, Give Yourself Back To Me. Lo, I Love You, But If My Love Is Too Mean, Let Me Love More Passionately. I Cannot Gauge My Love, Nor Know How Far It Fails, How Much More Love I Need For My Life To Set Its Course Straight Into Your Arms, Never Swerving Until Hidden In The Covert Of Your Face.