Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost.

The beauty of independence, departure, actions that rely on themselves.

Shut not your doors to me proud libraries.

Now I see that there is no such thing as love unreturn'd. The pay is certain, one way or another.

I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment—what is this, then? I do not ask any more delight—I swim in it, as in a sea.

this is thy hour o soul, thy free flight into the wordless, away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, night, sleep, death and the stars.

The sum of all known value and respect, I add up in you, whoever you are.