“My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.”

All writing is a form of prayer.

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art– Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite.

The only means of strengthening one’s intellect is to make up one’s mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.

If poetry does not come as naturally as leaves to a tree, then it better not come at all.

We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.

Scenery is fine – but human nature is finer.

Its better to lose your ego to the One you Love than to lose the One you Love to your Ego

To silence gossip, don’t repeat it.

What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should’st move My heart so potently?

She press’d his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.

I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.

What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.

The excellence of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with beauty and truth.

An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever; and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.

Where soil is, men grow, Whether to weeds or flowers.

Now a soft kiss – Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.

Success is my breathing space. I brought it on myself. I will price it, I will cash it, I can take it or leave it. Loneliness is my hiding place, breastfeeding myself. What more can I say? I have swallowed the bitter pill, I can taste it. Life is real.

Do friends really long to breathe the air of the other?

The last time I felt alive – I was looking into your eyes. Breathing your air, touching your skin, saying goodbye. The last time I felt alive, I was dying.

Makes you wonder. When I left St. Louis, I was making five dollars a night. Now I’m getting $5,000 a week — for saying the same things out loud I used to say under my breath.

The truth is always an abyss. One must — as in a swimming pool — dare to dive from the quivering springboard of trivial everyday experience and sink into the depths, in order to later rise again — laughing and fighting for breath — to the now doubly illuminated surface of things.

I’m drowning. And the air is nowhere to be found. Yet I pretend to breathe anyway.

I have hardly anything in common with myself and should stand very quietly in a corner, content that I can breathe.

I personally believe breathatarianism to be the highest mode of human living breathing in pure air, absorbing the direct light and energies of the sun, bathing in pure water I look at the obituaries every morning and ain’t nobody listed but you eaters.