Poetry Should Be Great And

I Have Nothing To Speak Of But My Self-and What Can I Say But What I Feel.

I Myself Am Pursuing The Same Instinctive Course As The Veriest Human Animal You Can Think Of I Am, However Young, Writing At Random Straining At Particles Of Light In The Midst Of A Great Darkness Without Knowing The Bearing Of Any One Assertion, Of Any One Opinion. Yet May I Not In This Be Free From Sin?

On A Lone Winter Evening, When The Frost Has Wrought A Silence.

To The Very Last, He [napoleon] Had A Kind Of Idea; That, Namely, Of La Carrière Ouverte Aux Talents, - The Tools To Him That Can Handle Them.

I Am Certain Of Nothing But The Holiness Of The Heart's Affections, And The Truth Of Imagination.