Come My Little One, And Give Me

I Had Toward The Poetic Art A Peculiar Relation Which Was Only Practical After I Had Cherished In My Mind For A Long Time A Subject Which Possessed Me, A Model Which Inspired Me, A Predecessor Who Attracted Me, Until At Length, After I Had Molded It

My Days Are As Happy As Those Reserved By God For His Elect; And Whatever Be My Fate Hereafter, I Can Never Say That I Have Not Tasted Joy— The Purest Joy Of Life.

Nothing Is More Dangerous Than Solitude.

Sin Writes Histories, Goodness Is Silent. [ger., Das Uebel Macht Eine Geschichte Und Das Gute Keine.]

So Dear Night The Half Of Life Is, And The Fairest Half Indeed.