The Moon, the dried weeds and the Pleiades - Seven feet tall the dark, dried weed stalks make a part of the night a red lace on the milky blue sky
If it ain't a pleasure, it ain't a poem.
As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
The only realism in art is of the imagination.
Imagination though it cannot wipe out the sting of remorse can instruct the mind in its proper uses.
The perfect type of the man of action is the suicide.