And all I loved, I loved alone.

With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.

In the Heaven's above, the angels, whispering to one another, can find, among their burning terms of love, none so devotional as that of 'Mother.

You will observe that the stories told are all about money-seekers, not about money-finders.

I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.

A million candles have burned themselves out. Still I read on. (Montresor)

A poem in my opinion, is opposed to a work of science by having for its immediate object, pleasure, not truth.