Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!

... I have no letter from the dead, yet daily love them more.

When he tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is acquainted with grief, we listen, for that also is an acquaintance of our own.

There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it.

Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.

Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, "Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me"?

The Soul selects her own Society.