Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

I Dwell In Possibility.

A Letter Always Seemed To Me Like Immortality Because It Is The Mind Alone Without Corporeal Friend.

We Outgrow Love Like Other Things And Put It In A Drawer, Till It An Antique Fashion Shows Like Costumes Grandsires Wore.

Remorse Is Memory Awake.

A Color Stands Abroad On Solitary Hills That Silence Cannot Overtake, But Human Nature Feels.