Works Of Genius Are The First Things

Joy, Whose Hand Is Ever At His Lips, Bidding Adieu

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter.

Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever Of Thyself.

The Excellence Of Every Art Is Its Intensity, Capable Of Making All Disagreeables Evaporate, From Their Being In Close Relationship With Beauty And Truth.

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.