To the last, I grapple with thee; From Hell's heart, I stab at thee; For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.

Beneath those stars is a universe of gliding monsters.

Give not thyself up, then, to fire, lest it invert thee, deaden thee, as for the time it did me. There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness.

Nearly all literature, in one sense, is made up of guide-books. Old ones tell us the ways our fathers went, through the thoroughfares and courts of old; but how few of those former places can their posterity trace, amid avenues of modern erections; to how few is the old guide-book now a clew! Every age makes its own guide-books, and the old ones are used for waste paper.

Think not, is my eleventh commandment; and sleep when you can, is my twelfth.

There's something ever egotistical in mountain-tops and towers, and all other grand and lofty things.

Nothing may help or heal While Amor incensed remembers wrong.