Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money >>
He has outsoared the shadow of our night; envy and calumny and hate an >>
Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest >>
I have had more trouble with myself than with any other man. >>
Any hope that America would finally grow up vanished with the rise of >>
The Three in One, the One in Three? Not so! To my own Gods I go. It ma >>
Here I swear, and as I break my oath may eternity blast me, here I swear that never will I forgive Christianity! It is the only point on which I allow myself to encourage revenge. Oh, how I wish I were the Antichrist, that it were mine to crush the Demon; to hurl him to his native Hell never to rise again -- I expect to gratify some of this insatiable feeling in Poetry.