I fell asleep reading a dull book and dreamed I kept on reading, so I awoke from sheer boredom.
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.
I do not murmur, even if my heart break.
Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.
Reform Judaism is like mock turtle soup-turtle soup without the turtle
Silence is the essential condition of happiness.