And He, Like Many Jaded

Jealousy, An Eminently Credulous And Suspicious Passion, Allows Fancy The Greatest Possible Play. But It Does Not Bestow Wit, It Banishes All Sense.

Death Unites As Well As Separates; It Silences All Paltry Feeling.

All Poetry Like Every Work Of Art Proceeds From A Swift Vision Of Things.

A Flow Of Words Is A Sure Sign Of Duplicity.

The Passion Of Love Is Essentially Selfish, While Motherhood Widens The Circle Of Our Feelings.