No One Is Truly Dead Until They

To Love Is To Admire With The Heart; To Admire Is To Love With The Mind.

Books Follow Morals, And Not Morals Books.

Only That Which Serves No End Is Beautiful; Everything Useful Is Ugly.

Those Horses Must Have Been Spanish Jennets, Born Of Mares Mated With A Zephyr; For They Went As Swiftly As The Wind, And The Moon, Which Had Risen At Our Departure To Give Us Light, Rolled Through The Sky Like A Wheel Detached From Its Carriage.

You Do Not Become A Critic Until It Has Been Completely Established To Your Own Satisfaction That You Cannot Be A Poet.