The Eloquent Voice Of Our

The World Hath Failed To Impart The Joy Our Youth Forebodes; Failed To Fill Up The Void Which In Our Breasts We Bear.

Culture Being A Pursuit Of Our Total Perfection By Means Of Getting To Know, On All The Matters Which Most Concern Us, The Best Which Has Been Thought And Said In The World.

The Difference Between Genuine Poetry And The Poetry Of Dryden, Pope, And All Their School, Is Briefly This: Their Poetry Is Conceived And Composed In Their Wits, Genuine Poetry Is Conceived And Composed In The Soul.

Ah! Two Desires Toss About The Poet's Feverish Blood; One Drives Him To The World Without, And One To Solitude.

Cruel, But Composed And Bland, Dumb, Inscrutable And Grand, So Tiberius Might Have Sat, Had Tiberius Been A Cat.