Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it.

He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.

The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat.

My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.

There is no passion, more spectral or fantastical than hate, not even its opposite, love, so peoples air, with phantoms, as this madness of the heart.

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!