Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me.

Perhaps if the future existed, concretely and individually, as something that could be discerned by a better brain, the past would not be so seductive: its demands would be balanced by those of the future.

There is only one real number: one. And love, apparently, is the best exponent of this singularity.

Because you took advantage of my disadvantage.

Derivative writers seem versatile because they imitate many others, past and present. Artistic originality has only itself to copy.

Alas! In vain historians pry and probe: The same wind blows, and in the same live robe Truth bends her head to fingers curved cupwise; And with a woman's smile and a child's care Examines something she is holding there Concealed by her own shoulder from our eyes.

Age indomitably, in the European manner. Do not finish your labours young. Be a planet, not a meteor. Honor the working day. Sit at your desk.