With me poetry has not been a purpose but a passion.

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We loved with a love that was more than love.

If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.

I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.

All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination and poetry.

Days of absence, sad and dreary, Clothed in sorrow’s dark array, – Days of absence, I am weary; She I love is far away.

I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love.

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.