It is not a merit to tolerate, but rather a crime to be intolerant.

The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.

I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers.

Cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow.

We live and move and think; but we are not the creators of our own origin and existence. We are not the arbiters of every motion of our own complicated nature; we are not the masters of our own imaginations and moods of mental being.

A story of particular facts is a mirror which obscures and distorts that which should be beautiful; poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which it distorts.