Signatures of all things I am here to read.

His heart danced upon her movement like a cork upon a tide.

Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.

I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses

A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.

Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.

Theologians consider that it was the sin of pride, the sinful thought conceived in an instant: non serviam: I will not serve. That instant was his [Lucifer's] ruin.