The Violets Prattle And Titter, And Gaze

Pretty Women Without Religion Are Like Flowers Without Perfume.

Perhaps Already I Am Dead, And These Perhaps Are Phantoms Vain; - These Motley Phantasies That Pass At Night Through My Disordered Brain. Perhaps With Ancient Heathen Shapes, Old Faded Gods, This Brain Is Full; Who, For Their Most Unholy Rites, Have Chosen A Dead Poet's Skull.

A Blaspheming Frenchman Is A Spectacle More Pleasing To The Lord Than A Praying Englishman.

If The Romans Had Been Obliged To Learn Latin, They Would Never Have Found Time To Conquer The World.

Where Books Are Burned In The End People Will Be Burned Too.