I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

OF writing many books there is no end; And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine,- Will write my story for my better self, As when you paint your portrait for a friend, Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you, just To hold together what he was and is.

Two human loves make one divine.

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

And lips say “God be pitiful,” Who ne'er said “God be praised.”

True knowledge comes only through suffering.

Foolishness and criticism are so apt, do so naturally go together!