Youth condemns; maturity condones

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it.

Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.

Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.

Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?

Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.

Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know.