Power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes whatever it touches.
All love is sweet, given or received.
Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.
Sometimes The Devil is a gentleman.
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
O weep for Adonis - He is dead." "Peace. He is not dead he doth not sleep - he hath wakened from the dream of life