If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.

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

Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.

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

When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.

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

May is much sunshine through small leaves.