Invisible Things Are The Only Realities.

This Maiden She Lived With No Other Thought Than To Love And Be Loved By Me.

To Elevate The Soul, Poetry Is Necessary.

The Believer Is Happy. The Doubter Is Wise.

There Is Not A More Disgusting Spectacle Under The Sun Than Our Subserviency To British Criticism. It Is Disgusting, First, Because It Is Truckling, Servile, Pusillanimous--secondly, Because Of Its Gross Irrationality. We Know The British To Bear Us Little But Ill Will--we Know That, In No Case Do They Utter Unbiased Opinions Of American Books . . . We Know All This, And Yet, Day After Day, Submit Our Necks To The Degrading Yoke Of The Crudest Opinion That Emanates From The Fatherland.

I Felt That I Breathed An Atmosphere Of Sorrow.