I Observe The Physician With The Same

That Which Attempts To Elevate The Ugly To The Level Of Beauty Becomes Neither; But An Obscenity.

To Know And Feel All This And Not Have The Words To Express It Makes A Human A Grave Of His Own Thoughts.

Can There Be Worse Sickness, Than To Know That We Are Never Well, Nor Can Be So?

Love Is A Growing, Or Full Constant Light; And His First Minute, After Noon, Is Night.

Die Not, Poore Death, Nor Yet Canst Thou Kill Me.