What Is More Gentle Than A Wind

I Don't Need The Stars In The Night I Found My Treasure All I Need Is You By My Side So Shine Forever

Real Are The Dreams Of Gods, And Smoothly Pass Their Pleasures In A Long Immortal Dream.

Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever Of Thyself.

Poetry Should Surprise By A Fine Excess And Not By Singularity, It Should Strike The Reader As A Wording Of His Own Highest Thoughts, And Appear Almost A Remembrance.

Failure Is In A Sense The Highway To Success, As Each Discovery Of What Is False Leads Us To Seek Earnestly After What Is True.