How Often My Soul Visits

Don't Tell Friends Their Social Faults; They Will Cure The Fault And Never Forgive You.

What Humbugs We Are, Who Pretend To Live For Beauty, And Never See The Dawn!

What Things There Are To Write, If One Could Only Write Them! My Mind Is Full Of Gleaming Thought; Gay Moods And Mysterious, Moth-like Meditations Hover In My Imagination, Fanning Their Painted Wings. But Always The Rarest, Those Streaked With Azure And The Deepest Crimson, Flutter Away Beyond My Reach.

For Souls In Growth, Great Quarrels Are Great Emancipations.

One Can Be Bored Until Boredom Becomes A Mystical Experience.