My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
That which is creative must create itself.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death
Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.