Curiosity is its own suicide.
Eyes that droop like summer flowers.
Knowledge is much like dust - it sticks to one, one does not know how.
There are words to paint the misery of love, but none to paint its happiness.
All beginnings are very troublesome things.
What is life? A gulf of troubled waters, where the soul, like a vexed bark, is tossed upon the waves of pain and pleasure by the wavering breath of passions.