From every Englishman emanates a kind of gas, the deadly choke-damp of boredom.
The cloudlets are lazily sailing O'er the blue Atlantic sea; And mid the twilight there hovers A shadowy figure o'er me.
Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.
If you wish to strive for peace of soul and pleasure, then believe.
The fountain of love is the rose and the lily, the sun and the dove.
My heart resembles the ocean; has storm, and ebb and flow; and many a beautiful pearl lies hid in its depths below.