A Weed Is A Plant Whose Virtue

Night-dreams Trace On Memory's Wall Shadows Of The Thoughts Of Day, And Thy Fortunes, As They Fall, The Bias Of The Will Betray.

Every Man Alone Is Sincere. At The Entrance Of A Second Person, Hypocrisy Begins

Only That Is Poetry Which Cleanses And Mans Me.

The Cheapness Of Man Is Every Day's Tragedy.

Thought Is The Seed Of Action.