Death Is Life's High Meed.

I Love Your Hills And I Love Your Dales, And I Love Your Flocks A-bleating; But Oh, On The Heather To Lie Together, With Both Our Hearts A-beating!

But Were There Ever Any Writhed Not At Passed Joy?

I Am Certain Of Nothing But The Holiness Of The Heart's Affections, And The Truth Of Imagination.

The Excellence Of Every Art Is Its Intensity.

To Stay Youthful, Stay Useful.