At First I Was Almost About To

With The Rose The Butterfly's Deep In Love, A Thousand Times Hovering Round; But Round Himself, All Tender Like Gold, The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Found.

Silence Is The Essential Condition Of Happiness.

It Is Only Kindred Griefs That Draw Forth Our Tears, And Each Weeps Really For Himself.

Wherever They Burn Books They Will Also, In The End, Burn Human Beings.

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.