Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?
Patriotism cannot be our final spiritual shelter; my refuge is humanity. I will not buy glass for the price of diamonds, and I will never allow patriotism to triumph over humanity as long as I live.
My fancies are fireflies Specks of living light twinkling in the dark.
Someone spilled the ink on the canvas. Now boasts: "I painted the night".
The movement of life has its rest in its own music.
Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it.