Thy Words Are Like A Cloud Of

There Is No God. This Negation Must Be Understood Solely To Affect A Creative Deity. The Hypothesis Of A Pervading Spirit Co-eternal With The Universe Remains Unshaken.

I Consider Poetry Very Subordinate To Moral And Political Science.

The Pleasure That Is In Sorrow Is Sweeter Than The Pleasure Of Pleasure Itself.

It Is Our Will That Thus Enchains Us To Permitted Ill. We Might Be Otherwise, We Might Be All We Dream Of Happy, High, Majestical. Where Is The Love, Beauty And Truth We Seek, But In Our Mind? And If We Were Not Weak, Should We Be Less In Deed Than In Desire?

There Is A Harmony In Autumn, And A Luster In Its Sky...