Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll!-a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?-weep now or nevermore!

We gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams.

No thinking being lives who, at some luminous point of his life of thought, has not felt himself lost amid the surges of futile efforts at understanding, or believing, that anything exists greater than his own soul.

Lord help my poor soul.

The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable of analysis.

From a proud tower in the town, Death looks gigantically down.

And so, being young and dipt in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.