The Man Who Acts Never Has Any

Our Passions Are True Phoenixes; As The Old Burn Out The New Straight Rise Up From The Ashes.

Two Souls Dwell, Alas! In My Breast.

National Literature Does Not Mean Much These Days; Now Is The Age Of World Literature, And Every One Must Contribute To Hasten Thearrival Of That Age.

The World Runs On From One Folly To Another; And The Man Who, Solely From Regard To The Opinion Of Others, And Without Any Wish Or Necessity Of His Own, Toils After Gold, Honour, Or Any Other Phantom, Is No Better Than A Fool.

What We Don't Understand We Don't Possess.