God Is The Perfect Poet,

But How Carve Way I' The Life That Lies Before, If Bent On Groaning Ever For The Past?

I Write From A Thorough Conviction That It Is The Duty Of Me, And With The Belief That, After Every Drawback And Shortcoming, I Do My Best, All Things Considered--that Is For Me, And, So Being, The Not Being Listened To By One Human Creature Would, I Hope, In Nowise Affect Me.

There Is Nothing So Unpardonable As To Consent To A Senseless, Aimless, Purposeless Life.

Every One Soon Or Late Comes Round By Rome.

It Is The Glory And Good Of Art, That Art Remains The One Way Possible Of Speaking Truth, To Mouths Like Mine At Least.