True villains are extremely photogenic.

Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.

The point of vision and desire are the same.

We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession.

A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

God and the imagination are one.

In the same way, you were happy in spring, With the half colors of quarter-things, The slightly brighter sky, the melting clouds, The single bird, the obscure moon- The obscure moon lighting an obscure world Of thing that would never be quite expressed, Where you yourself were never quite yourself And did not want nor have to be.