My death, taking the light from my eyes, gives back to the day the purity which they soiled.

I loved you when you were unfaithful; what would I have done if you were true?

The principal rule of art is to please and to move. All the other rules were created to achieve this first one.

Often it is fatal to live too long.

What does it matter if, by chance, a little vile blood be spilled?

This innocence begins to weigh me down.

If I could believe that this was said sincerely, I could put up with anything.