O Death, O Beyond, Thou Art Sweet,

The Beautiful Seems Right By Force Of Beauty And The Feeble Wrong Because Of Weakness.

And Chaucer, With His Infantine Familiar Clasp Of Things Divine.

I F Thou Must Love Me, Let It Be For Nought Except For Love's Sake Only. Do Not Say, I Love Her For Her Smile ... Her Look ... Her Way Of Speaking Gently ... For A Trick Of Thought That Falls In Well With Mine, And, Certes, Brought A Sense Of Pleasant Ease On Such A Day- For These Things In Themselves, Beloved, May Be Changed, Or Change For Thee-and Love So Wrought, May Be Unwrought So.

What Is Genius But The Power Of Expressing A New Individuality?

What Frightens Me Is That Men Are Content With What Is Not Life At All.