...If you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall be under the necessity of breaking your head with this shovel

And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave.

The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.

But Psyche uplifting her finger said: Sadly this star I mistrust

Boston: Their hotels are bad. Their pumpkin pies are delicious. Their poetry is not so good.

How much more intense is the excitement wrought in the feelings of a crowd by the contemplation of human agony, than that brought about by the most appalling spectacles of inanimate matter.