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

Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance.

As a poet and as a mathematician, he would reason well; as a mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all.

In efforts to soar above our nature, we invariably fall below it.

In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed-- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

It may be roundly asserted that human ingenuity cannot concoct a cipher which human ingenuity cannot resolve.

I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep!