How Many Desolate Creatures On The Earth

I Should Not Dare To Call My Soul My Own.

Whoever Lives True Life, Will Love True Love.

When The Dust Of Death Has Choked A Great Man's Voice, The Common Words He Said Turn Oracles, The Common Thoughts He Yoked Like Horses Draw Like Griffins.

Every Wish Is Like A Prayer--with God.

My Love For Him Was So Exquisitely Pure That If We All Were Capable Of Giving And Receiving Such A Beautiful Gift The World Would Be A Far More Brilliant Place; I Think We'd All Be Poets.