'tis Well Enough For A

No, I'm No Enemy To Learning; It Hurts Not Me.

They Come Together Like The Coroner's Inquest, To Sit Upon The Murdered Reputations Of The Week.

O, She Is The Antidote To Desire.

Turn Pimp, Flatterer, Quack, Lawyer, Parson, Be Chaplain To An Atheist, Or Stallion To An Old Woman, Anything But A Poet; For A Poet Is Worse, More Servile, Timorous And Fawning Than Any I Have Named.

Words Are The Weak Support Of Cold Indifference; Love Has No Language To Be Heard.