Even If You Are Divine, You Don't

The Goods Of Fortune, Even Such As They Really Are, Still Need Taste To Enjoy Them. It Is The Enjoying No The Possessing, That Makes Us Happy.

The Power Of One Fair Face Makes My Love Sublime, For It Has Weaned My Heart From Low Desires.

Art Lives On Constraint And Dies Of Freedom.

Dear To Me Is Sleep: Still More, Being Made Of Stone, While Pain And Guilt Still Linger Here Below, Blindness And Numbness--these Please Me Alone; Then Do Not Wake Me, Keep Your Voices Low.

I Couldn't Give You Something Mediocre Even If That's All You Asked For.