Some Think I Wink At Them When

In The Sweetness Of Friendship Let There Be Laughter, And Sharing Of Pleasures. For In The Dew Of Little Things The Heart Finds Its Morning And Is Refreshed.

For What Is It To Die But To Stand Naked In The Wind And To Melt Into The Sun? And When The Earth Shall Claim Your Limbs, Then Shall You Truly Dance.

Love Has No Other Desire But To Fulfill Itself.

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.

The Very Strength That Protects The Heart From Injury Is The Strength That Prevents The Heart From Enlarging To Its Intended Greatness Within. The Song Of The Voice Is Sweet, But The Song Of The Heart Is The Pure Voice Of Heaven.