Soul Meets Soul On Lovers' Lips.

Poetry Is A Mirror Which Makes Beautiful That Which Is Distorted.

We Know Not What We Do When We Speak Words.

... A Wild Dissolving Bliss Over My Frame He Breathed, Approaching Near, And Bent His Eyes Of Kindling Tenderness Near Mine, And On My Lips Impressed A Lingering Kiss

Peace Is In The Grave. The Grave Hides All Things Beautiful And Good. I Am A God And Cannot Find It There, Nor Would I Seek It; For, Though Dread Revenge, This Is Defeat, Fierce King, Not Victory.

I Am Convinced That There Can Be No Regeneration Of Mankind Until Laughter Is Put Down.