Nature has no history.

Understanding of being is itself a determination of being of Da-sein.

There is no such thing as an empty word$$$ only one that is worn out yet remains full.

Tell me how you read and I'll tell you who you are.

I can't think of a case where poems changed the world$$$ but what they do is they change people's understanding of what's going on in the world.

Poetry is only the highest eloquence of passion$$$ the most vivid form of expression that can be given to our conception of anything$$$ whether pleasurable or painful$$$ mean or dignified$$$ delightful or distressing. It is the perfect coincidence of the image and the words with the feeling we have$$$ and of which we cannot get rid in any other way$$$ that gives an instant "satisfaction to the thought." This is equally the origin of wit and fancy$$$ of comedy and tragedy$$$ of the sublime and pathetic.

Look up$$$ laugh loud$$$ talk big$$$ keep the color in your cheek and the fire in your eye$$$ adorn your person$$$ maintain your health$$$ your beauty$$$ and your animal spirits.

This hobble of being alive is rather serious$$$ dont you think so?

That it would always be summer and autumn$$$ and you always courting me$$$ and always thinking as much of me as you have done through the past summertime!

You overrate my capacity of love. I don't posess half the warmth of nature you believe me to have. An unprotected childhood in a cold world has beaten gentleness out of me.