Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.
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I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity
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Sleep, those little slices of death; Oh how I loathe them.
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Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.
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Take this kiss upon the brow And, in parting from you now,Thus much let me avow--You are not wrong who deemThat my days have been a dreamYet if hope has flown awayIn a night, or in a day,In a vision, or in none,Is it therefore the less goneAll that we see or seemIs but a dream within a dream.
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There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.
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You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou ... dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my ...
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A strong argument for the religion of Christ is this -- that offences against Charity are about the only ones which men on their death-beds can be made -- not to understand -- but to feel -- as crime.
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All that we see and seem is but a dream within a dream.
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Children are never too tender to be whipped. Like tough beefsteaks, the more you beat them, the more tender they become.
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Scorching my seared heart with a pain, not hell shall make me fear again.
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Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them.
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Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul. The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of Artist.
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It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.
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Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie....
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Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
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I have great faith in fools; self-confidence, my friends call it.
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Thank Heaven! the crisis — The danger, is past,...
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The death ... of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
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Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
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I have great faith in fools -- self confidence my friends call it.
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Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors ... on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer t...
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I have great faith in fools; My friends call it self-confidence.
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Depend upon it, after all, Thomas, Literature is the most noble of professions. In fact, it is about the only one fit for a man. For my own part, there is no seducing me from the path.
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Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.
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the wind came out of the cloud chilling And killing my Annabel Lee.
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My love—my faith—should instil into your bosom a praeternatural calm. You would rest from care.... You would get better.... And if not, He...
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Semi-Saracenic architecture, sustaining itself as if by miracle in mid air; glittering in the red sunlight with a hundred oriels, minarets, an...
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There are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction.
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The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure ...: buffoons,... improvisatori,... ballet-dancers,... musicians,... Beauty,... wine. A...
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