A poem deserves its title only inasmuch as it excites, by elevating the soul.

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

That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.

In beauty of face no maiden ever equaled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream - an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.

The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow

All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire.

Out- out are the lights- out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm.