Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?
May is much sunshine through small leaves.
How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
Youth condemns; maturity condones
Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.