The making of one's life into art is, after all, the first duty and privilege of every man.

The making of one's life into art is, after all, the first duty and privilege of every man.

Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is, As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice; How this one clings and how that uncloses From bud to flower in the way of roses.

And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover Stoop to become your friend!

Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me.

The mystic too full of God to speak intelligibly to the world.

I had my dreams of Venice, but nothing that I had dreamed was as impossible as what I found.