Believe Only Half Of What You See

The Death Of A Beautiful Woman, Is Unquestionably The Most Poetical Topic In The World.

Out- Out Are The Lights- Out All! And, Over Each Quivering Form, The Curtain, A Funeral Pall, Comes Down With The Rush Of A Storm, While The Angels, All Pallid And Wan, Uprising, Unveiling, Affirm That The Play Is The Tragedy, "man," And Its Hero The Conqueror Worm.

The Nose Of A Mob Is Its Imagination. By This, At Any Time, It Can Be Quietly Led.

The Eye, Like A Shattered Mirror, Multiplies The Images Of Sorrow

That Pleasure Which Is At Once The Most Pure, The Most Elevating And The Most Intense, Is Derived, I Maintain, From The Contemplation Of The Beautiful.