A Man's Errors Are His Portals Of

No One Who Has Any Self-respect Stays In Ireland, But Flees Afar As Though From A Country That Has Undergone The Visitation Of An Angered Jove.

And When All Was Said And Done The Lies A Fellow Told About Himself Couldn't Probably Hold A Proverbial Candle To The Wholesale Whoppers Other Fellows Coined About Him.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality. It Speaks Of What Seems Fantastic And Unreal To Those Who Have Lost The Simple Intuitions Which Are The Test Of Reality; And, As It Is Often Found At War With Its Age, So It Makes No Account Of History, Which Is Fabled By The Daughters Of Memory.

A Wild Angel Had Appeared To Him, The Angel Of Mortal Youth And Beauty, An Envoy From The Fair Courts Of Life, To Throw Open Before Him In An Instant Of Ecstasy The Gates Of All The Ways Of Error And Glory.

Love (understood As The Desire Of Good For Another) Is In Fact So Unnatural A Phenomenon That It Can Scarcely Repeat Itself The Soul Being Unable To Become Virgin Again And Not Having Energy Enough To Cast Itself Out Again Into The Ocean Of Another S Soul.