Grief has been compared to a hydra; for every one that dies, two are born.

The heart is an astrologer that always divines the truth.

What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough: for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.

At the point when affection is not frenzy, it is not adore.

For man's greatest crime is to have been born.

Tis not where we lie but whence we fell; the loss of Heaven's the greatest pain in Hell.

When love is not madness, it is not love.