Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbeloving; Unless you can die when the dream is past- Oh, never call it loving!

"With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart" once more! Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was of us, Burns, Shelley, were with us. They watch from their graves!

Night conceals a world but reveals a universe.

God is the perfect poet.

When I love most, love is disguised. In hate; and when hate is surprised, in love, then I hate most.