Youth Is Stranger Than Fiction.

The Worst Of Slaves Is He Whom Passion Rules.

I Have Been So Great A Lover: Filled My Days So Proudly With The Splendour Of Love's Praise, The Pain, The Calm, And The Astonishment, Desire Illimitable, And Silent Content, And All Dear Names Men Use, To Cheat Despair, For The Perplexed And Viewless Streams That Bear Our Hearts At Random Down The Dark Of Life.

Incredibly, Inordinately, Devastatingly, Immortally, Calamitously, Hearteningly, Adorably Beautiful.

Down The Blue Night The Unending Columns Press In Noiseless Tumult, Break And Wave And Flow

The Cool Kindliness Of Sheets, That Soon Smooth Away Trouble; And The Rough Male Kiss Of Blankets.