Frienship Is Eros...without Wings

The Simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, Both By Precept And Example, Shows / That Prose Is Verse, And Verse Is Merely Prose.

I Live, But Live To Die: And, Living, See Nothing To Make Death Hateful, Save An Innate Clinging, A Loathsome And Yet All Invincible Instinct Of Life, Which I Abhor, As I Despise Myself, Yet Cannot Overcome — And So I Live. Would I Had Never Lived!

Think'st Thou Existence Doth Depend On Time? It Doth; But Actions Are Our Epochs.

I Only Go Out To Get Me A Fresh Appetite For Being Alone.

Land Of Lost Gods And Godlike Men.