If something is not beautiful, it is probably not true.

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.

To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death

Death is Life's high meed.

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.