“If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to himself…that a tiger is an optical illusion–well, he will find out he is wrong.”

I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.

Absence – that common cure of love.

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.

And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music… Speak to me!

If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.

There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

Adversity is the first path to truth.

The great object of life is Sensation – to feel that we exist – even though in pain – it is this “craving void” which drives us to gaming – to battle – to travel – to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

The heart will break, but broken live on.

What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.

The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.