We can't separate our humanity from our poetry.

And if God choose I shall but love thee better after death.

What is genius but the power of expressing a new individuality?

"There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow." And nature oft the cry of faith In bitter need will borrow: Eyes which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised; And lips say, "God be pitiful," Who ne'er said, "God be praised."

And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair; And they heard the words it said,- "Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!"

Definition of Love: A score of zero in tennis. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life.

Let us be content to work To do the things we can, and not presume To fret because it's little.