Virginity Is The Poetry, Not The Reality,

There Is No Man More Complete Than The One Who Travelled A Lot, Who Changed The Shape Of His Thoughts And His Life Twenty Times.

Poets And Heroes Are Of The Same Race, The Latter Do What The Former Conceive.

What Is Our Life But A Succession Of Preludes To That Unknown Song Whose First Solemn Note Is Sounded By Death?

Modesty And Dew Love The Shade.

Friendship, Sweet-resting Place Of The Soul, The Gloaming Wherein Our Hearts Find Peace.