All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.
Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation.
Don’t ask a writer what he’s working on. It’s like asking someone with cancer on the progress of his disease.
Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.