Immediate Work, Even Poor, Is Worth More

How Bittersweet It Is, On Winter's Night, To Listen, By The Sputtering, Smoking Fire, As Distant Memories, Through The Fog-dimmed Light, Rise, To The Muffled Chime Of Churchbell Choir.

The Taste For Pleasure Attaches Us To The Present. The Concern With Our Salvation Leaves Us Hanging On The Future.

J'ai Plus De Souvenirs Que Si J'avais Mille Ans. Ihavemorememoriesthanifiwereonethousandyearsold.

If The Poet Has Pursued A Moral Objective, He Has Diminished His Poetic Force.

There Are Some Temptations Which Are So Strong That They Must Be Virtues.