You can still die when the sun is shining.

The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question.

A certain pride, a certain awe, withheld him from offering to God even one prayer at night, though he knew it was in God's power to take away his life while he slept and hurl his soul hellward ere he could beg for mercy.

The intellectual imagination! With me all or not at all. NON SERVIAM!

The voices blend and fuse in clouded silence: silence that is infinite of space: and swiftly, silently the sound is wafted over regions of cycles of cycles of generations that have lived.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life