His Religion At Best Is An Anxious

Closer Of Lovely Eyes To Lovely Dreams, Lover Of Loneliness, And Wandering, Of Upcast Eye, And Tender Pondering! Thee Must I Praise Above All Other Glories That Smile Us On To Tell Delightful Stories.

A Man Should Have The Fine Point Of His Soul Taken Off To Become Fit For This World.

There Is Nothing Stable In The World; Uproar's Your Only Music.

Through The Sad Heart Of Ruth, When Sick For Home She Stood In Tears Amid The Alien Corn; The Same That Ofttimes Hath Charm'd Magic Casements, Opening On The Foam Of Perilous Seas, In Faery Lands Forlorn.

If Something Is Not Beautiful, It Is Probably Not True.