Those Who Begin By Burning Books Will

At Dresden On The Elbe, That Handsome City, Where Straw Hats, Verses, And Cigars Are Made, They've Built (it Well May Make Us Feel Afraid,) A Music Club And Music Warehouse Pretty.

Lo, Sleep Is Good, Better Is Death--in Sooth The Best Of All Were Never To Be Born.

He That Marries Is Like The Dogs Who Was Married To The Adriatic. He Knows Not What There Is In That Which He Marries; Mayhap Treasures And Pearls, Mayhap Monsters And Tempests, Await Him.

Literary History Is The Great Morgue Where All Seek The Dead Ones Whom They Love, Or To Whom They Are Related.

I Bequeath All My Property To My Wife On The Condition That She Remarry Immediately. Then There Will Be At Least One Man To Regret My Death.