Newness hath an evanescent beauty.

I wept in my dreams. I dreamed you lay in the grave; I awoke, and the tears still poured down my cheeks. I wept in my dreams, I dreamed you had left me; I awoke and I went on weeping long and bitterly. I wept in my dreams, I dreamed you were still kind to me; I awoke, and still the flow of my tears streams on.

The real madness probably is not another thing that the wisdom itself that, tired of discovering the shames of the world, has taken the intelligent resolution to become mad

The men of action are, after all, only the unconscious instruments of the men of thought.

Everywhere that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.

Music played at weddings always reminds me of the music played for soldiers before they go into battle.

Oh what lies there are in kisses! And their guile so well prepared! Sweet the snaring is; but this is Sweeter still, to be ensnared.