Art remains the one way possible of speaking truth.

I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.

There is no truer truth obtainable by Man than comes of music

how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet

Let friend trust friends, and love demand love's like.

All poetry is difficult to read - The sense of it anyhow.

Days decrease, / And autumn grows, autumn in everything.