Who Would Wish To Be

She Hurried At His Words, Beset With Fears, For There Were Sleeping Dragons All Around.

Poetry Should Surprise By A Fine Excess And Not By Singularity, It Should Strike The Reader As A Wording Of His Own Highest Thoughts, And Appear Almost A Remembrance.

She Press'd His Hand In Slumber; So Once More He Could Not Help But Kiss Her And Adore.

To Silence Gossip, Don't Repeat It.

For Axioms In Philosophy Are Not Axioms Until They Are Proved Upon Our Pulses.