To Sigh, Yet Feel No Pain; To

Fly Not Yet; 't Is Just The Hour When Pleasure, Like The Midnight Flower That Scorns The Eye Of Vulgar Light, Begins To Bloom For Sons Of Night And Maids Who Love The Moon.

The Vices Of Some Men Are Magnificent.

For God's Sake (i Never Was More Serious) Don't Make Me Ridiculous Any More By Terming Me Gentle-hearted In Print.

Man, While He Loves, Is Never Quite Depraved.

I Am In Love With This Green Earth.