Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day; or the agonies which are have their origins in ecstasies which might have been.

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.

As an individual, I myself feel impelled to fancy ... a limitless succession of Universes.... Each exists, apart and independently, in the bosom of its proper and particular God.

Who cares how time advances? I am drinking ale today.

I heed not that my earthly lot Hath - little of Earth in it - That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute: - I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, But that you sorrow for my fate Who am a passer by.

Marking a book is literally an experience of your differences or agreements with the author. It is the highest respect you can pay him.

That the play is the tragedy, “Man,” And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.