The poet gives us his essence, but prose takes the mould of the body and mind entire.

For the eye has this strange property: it rests only on beauty.

The future is dark, which is the best thing the future can be, I think.

Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more.

For the young people could not talk. And why should they? Shout, embrace, swing, be up at dawn.

Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.

All extremes are dangerous.