Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again

You may tell me that my hand and foot are only imaginary symbols of my existence. I could believe you, but you never, never can convince me that the I is not an eternal reality, and that the spiritual is not the true and real part of me.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.

Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer, being all unblest; Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: Go by, go by.

What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

Men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, but women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.