I desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world.
The incompatibility of aquacity with the erratic originality of genius.
The studious silence of the library ... Thought is the thought of thought. Tranquil brightness.
The pleasures of love lasts but a fleeting but the pledges of life outlusts a lieftime.
His eyes were dimmed with tears and, looking humbly up to heaven, he wept for the innocence he had lost.
O cold ! O shivery ! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet. Let me off this once.