Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

Still ours the dance, the feast, the glorious Psalm, The mystic lights of emblem, and the Word.

Life's sharpest rapture is surcease of pain.

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

I am never going to write for the sake of writing.

My own curiosity and interest are insatiable.

Jews are the intensive form of any nationality whose language and customs they adopt.