That Which Is Creative Must Create Itself.

Are There Not Thousands In The World Who Love Their Fellows Even To The Death, Who Feel The Giant Agony Of The World, And More, Like Slaves To Poor Humanity, Labor For Mortal Good?

Wine Is Only Sweet To Happy Men.

My Mind Has Been The Most Discontented And Restless One That Ever Was Put Into A Body Too Small For It.

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.