That which is possible is inevitable.
No opinion can be trusted; even the facts may be nothing but a printer's error.
We sit and talk quietly, with long lapses of silence, and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech.
Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels.
The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Hell take curtains! Go with some show of inconvenience; sit openly - to the weather as to grief. Or do you think you can shut your grief in?