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

Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature; it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented.

How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!

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

Youth condemns; maturity condones

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.