The genius of poetry must work out its own salvation in a man; it cannot be matured by law and precept, but by sensation and watchfulness in itself. 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

Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.

All clean and comfortable I sit down to write.

You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?

Failure is in a sense the highway to success, as each discovery of what is false leads us to seek earnestly after what is true.