Where Would The Shout Of Love Begin,

...though We Chisel Away As Best We Can At The Mysterious Block From Which Our Life Is Made, The Black Vein Of Destiny Continually Reappears.

Great Grief Is A Divine And Terrible Radiance Which Transfigures The Wretched.

The Aim Of Art Is Almost Divine: To Bring To Life Again If It Is Writing History, To Create If It Is Writing Poetry.

They Adored Each Other; But Still The Permanent And The Immutable Subsist. We May Love And Laugh, Pout, Clasp Hands, Smile, And Exchange Endearments, But That Does Not Affect Eternity. Two Lovers Hide In The Dusk Of Evening, Amid Flowers And The Twittering Of Birds, And Enchant Each Other With Their Hearts Shinning In Their Eyes; But The Stars In Their Course Still Circle Through Infinite Space.

The Wicked Envy And Hate; It Is Their Way Of Admiring.