True Love Is The Ripe

Man Is Born Barbarous--he Is Ransomed From The Condition Of Beasts Only By Being Cultivated.

If God Is Thy Father, Human Beings Are Thy Brothers And Sisters.

Sad Is His Lot, Who, Once At Least In His Life, Has Not Been A Poet.

Death, With Funereal Shades In Vain Surrounds Me, My Reason Through His Darkness Seeth Light: 'tis The Last Step Which Brings Me Close To Thee: 'tis The Veil Falling, 'twixt Thy Face And Mine.

An Artist Should Have More Than Two Eyes.