Perhaps already I am dead, And these perhaps are phantoms vain; - These motley phantasies that pass At night through my disordered brain. Perhaps with ancient heathen shapes, Old faded gods, this brain is full; Who, for their most unholy rites, Have chosen a dead poet's skull.
Atheism is the last word of theism
Thought is invisible nature.
If one has no heart, one cannot write for the masses.
Where books are burnt, men finish up being burnt too.
No author is a man of genius to his publisher.