In Solitude, When We Are Least Alone.

Sorrow Is Knowledge, Those That Know The Most Must Mourn The Deepest, The Tree Of Knowledge Is Not The Tree Of Life.

Such Is Your Cold Coquette, Who Can't Say "no," And Won't Say "yes," And Keeps You On And Off-ing On A Lee-shore, Till It Begins To Blow, Then Sees Your Heart Wreck'd, With An Inward Scoffing.

Let None Think To Fly The Danger For Soon Or Late Love Is His Own Avenger.

For A Man To Become A Poet (witness Petrarch And Dante), He Must Be In Love, Or Miserable.

Be Warm, Be Pure, Be Amorous, But Be Chaste.