It Matters Not How Long

The Poet's Pen Is The True Divining Rod Which Trembles Towards The Inner Founts Of Feeling; Bringing To Light And Use, Else Hid From All, The Many Sweet Clear Sources Which We Have Of Good And Beauty In Our Own Deep Bosoms; And Marks The Variations Of All Mind As Does The Needle.

Sorrow Is A Stone That Crushes A Single Bearer To The Ground, While Two Are Able To Carry It With Ease.

Could I Love Less, I Should Be Happier Now.

The Ground Of All Great Thoughts Is Sadness.

Art Is A Man's Nature; Nature Is God's Art.