O Solitude! If I Must With Thee

Pleasure Is Oft A Visitant; But Pain Clings Cruelly To Us.

I Want A Brighter Word Than Bright

A Poet Is The Most Unpoetical Of Anything In Existence; Because He Has No Identity He Is Continually Informing And Filling Some Other Body.

What Occasions The Greater Part Of The World's Quarrels? Simply This: Two Minds Meet And Do Not Understand Each Other In Time Enough To Prevent Any Shock Of Surprise At The Conduct Of Either Party.

I Will Clamber Through The Clouds And Exist.