I sing, not to hear the echo repeat, a shade fainter, my song! I think of light and not of glory! Singing is my fashion of waging war and bearing witness. And if my song is the proudest of songs, it is that I sing clearly to make the day rise clear!

I-I am going to be a storm-a flame- I need to fight whole armies alone; I have ten hearts; I have a hundred arms; I feel too strong to war with mortals- BRING ME GIANTS!

I would die at the stake rather than change a semi-colon!

And if kisses in these words could travel too, Madam, you'd read this letter with your lips.

Your name hangs in my heart like a bell's tongue.

The dream, alone, is of interest. What is life without a dream?

A great nose may be an index Of a great soul