Whoever Lives True Life, Will Love True

We Can't Separate Our Humanity From Our Poetry.

Children Use The Fist Until They Are Of Age To Use The Brain.

Oh, A Day In The City-square, There Is No Such Pleasure In Life!

Too Much Beauty, I Reckon, Is Nothing But Too Much Sun.

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless; That Only Men Incredulous Of Despair, Half-taught In Anguish, Through The Midnight Air Beat Upward To God's Throne In Loud Access Of Shrieking And Reproach