The Coldest Word Was Once

The All Of Things Is An Infinite Conjugation Of The Verb To Do .

Our Very Walking Is An Incessant Falling; A Falling And A Catching Of Ourselves Before We Come Actually To The Pavement. It Is Emblematic Of All Things A Man Does.

Nature, After All, Is Still The Grand Agent In Making Poets.

I Do Not Believe In The Collective Wisdom Of Individual Ignorance.

On The Whole, I Would Bid You Stand Up To Your Work, Whatever It May Be, And Not Be Afraid Of It; Not In Sorrows Or Contradictions To Yield, But To Push On Towards The Goal.