I have so much in me, and the feeling for her absorbs it all; I have so much, and without her it all comes to nothing.

The further one advances in experience, the closer one comes to the unfathomable; the more one learns to utilize experience, the more one recognizes that the unfathomable is of no practical value.

It is the strange fate of man, that even in the greatest of evils the fear of the worst continues to haunt him.

Superstition is the poesy of practical life; hence, a poet is none the worse for being superstitious.

Words are mere sound and smoke, dimming the heavenly light.

Patriotism corrupts history.

A creation of importance can only be produced when its author isolates himself, it is a child of solitude.