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

Happiness, to some, is elation; to others it is mere stagnation.

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

How much more beautiful is the moon, Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree; The moon Wavering across a bed of tulips; The moon, Still, Upon your face. You shine, Beloved, You and the moon. But which is the reflection?

A black cat among roses, phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon, the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still. It is dazed with moonlight, contented with perfume.

I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.

May is much sunshine through small leaves.