All clean and comfortable I sit down to write.

Its better to lose your ego to the One you Love than to lose the One you Love to your Ego

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty

I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.