Poetry Is To Be Found Nowhere Unless

Heaven Is For Those Who Think Of It.

We Always Believe God Is Like Ourselves, The Indulgent Think Him Indulgent And The Stern, Terrible.

When One Has Too Great A Dread Of What Is Impending, One Feels Some Relief When The Trouble Has Come.

When We Love, It Is The Heart That Judges.

Tormented By The Cursed Ambition Always To Put A Whole Book In A Page, A Whole Page In A Sentence, And This Sentence In A Word. I Am Speaking Of Myself.