But The More Poetry One Reads The

Regret Is An Appalling Waste Of Time.

I Am Poor - Obscure - Just Eighteen Years Of Age - With A Rapacious Appetite For Everything And Principles As Light As My Purse.

We Cling To Our Last Pleasures As The Tree Clings To Its Last Leaves.

When I Say "i Fear" - Don't Let It Disturb You, Dearest Heart. We All Fear When We Are In Waiting-rooms. Yet We Must Pass Beyond Them, And If The Other Can Keep Calm, It Is All The Help We Can Give Each Other.

You Have Never Been Curious About Me; You Never Wanted To Explore My Soul.