The sin was mine; I did not understand. So now is music prisoned in her cave, Save where some ebbing desultory wave Frets with its restless whirls this meagre strand.

Any place that we love becomes our world.

I could never quite accustom myself to absinthe, but it suits my style so well

Everybody who is incapable of learning has taken to teaching.

Look at the moon. How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead woman. One might fancy she was looking for dead things.

If this is the way Queen Victoria treats her prisoners, she doesn't deserve to have any.

It is awfully hard work doing nothing.