The Old Poets Little Knew What Comfort

There Was A Patient Look On The Old Man's Face, As If The World Were A Great Mistake And He Had Nobody With Whom To Speak His Own Language Or Find Companionship.

The Warm Sun Kissed The Earthto Consecrate Thy Birth,and From His Close Embracethy Radiant Facesprang Into Sight,a Blossoming Delight.

Don't Scatter Your Fire! You Are A Prose Writer: Stick To Your Own Tool!

The Thing That Teases The Mind Over And Over For Years, And At Last Gets Itself Put Down Rightly On Paper - Whether Little Or Great, It Belongs To Literature.

God Would Not Give Us The Same Talent If What Were Right For Men Were Wrong For Women.