Eternity Forbids Thee To Forget.

There Is No Such Thing As A Life Of Passion Any More Than A Continuous Earthquake, Or An Eternal Fever. Besides, Who Would Ever Shave Themselves In Such A State?

Why Do They Call Me Misanthrope? Because They Hate Me, Not I Them.

So Sweet The Blush Of Bashfulness, E'en Pity Scarce Can Wish It Less!

If I Don't Write To Empty My Mind, I Go Mad. As To That Regular, Uninterrupted Love Of Writing. I Do Not Understand It. I Feel It As A Torture, Which I Must Get Rid Of, But Never As A Pleasure. On The Contrary, I Think Composition A Great Pain.

Dead Scandals Form Good Subjects For Dissection.