Nothing Wilts Faster Than Laurels That Have

Worse Than A Bloody Hand Is A Hard Heart.

I Pant, I Sink, I Tremble, I Expire!

Music, When Soft Voices Die, Vibrates In The Memory; Odours, When Sweet Violets Sicken, Live Within The Sense They Quicken. Rose Leaves, When The Rose Is Dead, Are Heap'd For The Belovèd's Bed; And So Thy Thoughts, When Thou Art Gone, Love Itself Shall Slumber On.

If A Person's Religious Ideas Correspond Not With Your Own, Love Him Nevertheless

Obscenity, Which Is Ever Blasphemy Against The Divine Beauty In Life, Is A Monster For Which The Corruption Of Society Forever Brings Forth New Food, Which It Devours In Secret.