We Know The Degree Of

Earth Knows No Desolation. She Smells Regeneration In The Moist Breath Of Decay.

George Eliot Has The Heart Of Sappho; But The Face, With The Long Proboscis, The Protruding Teeth Of The Apocalyptic Horse, Betrayed Animality.

On A Starred Night Prince Lucifer Uprose, Tired Of His Dark Dominion Swung The Fiend . . . He Reached A Middle Height, And At The Stars, Which Are The Brain Of Heaven, He Looked, And Sank. Around The Ancient Track Marched, Rank On Rank, The Army Of Unalterable Law.

My Religion Of Life Is Always To Be Cheerful.

Cynicism Is Intellectual Dandyism.