All is beautiful and unceasing, all is music and reason, and all, like diamond, is carbon first, then light.

I know that when the world surrenders, pallid, to repose, the murmur of a tranquil stream through the deep silence flows.

My poems are like a dagger Sprouting flowers from the hilt; My poetry is like a fountain Sprinkling streams of coral water.

Once I reveled in a destiny like no other joy I'd known: when the warden - reading my death sentence - wept.

Order and disorder, they each have their beauty

I cannot but think that he who finds a certain proportion of pain and evil inseparably woven up in the life of the very worms, will bear his own share with mor…

Beauty from order springs.