“Love is my religion – I could die for it.”

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.

Many have original minds who do not think it – they are led away by custom!

Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.

That queen of secrecy, the violet.

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.

One of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind’s imagining into another

I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.

Every fresh experience points out some form of error which we shall afterwards carefully avoid.

Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth.

Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?

I will clamber through the clouds and exist.

You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour.

I think we may class the lawyer in the natural history of monsters.

The excellence of every Art is its intensity.

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!

As the Swiss inscription says: “Speech is silvern, Silence is golden;” or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.

If I were to die and become the star I would just twinkle to see you all the time.

If we die now what will all this have been for? mere clasping at straws.

Don’t you get it? I’d live and die for you. You have my heart locked in prison. And yet you are my greatest source of freedom.

I will bring you all of my dead flowers if you will breathe me a promise of spring.

We live only to die yet we’re dying to live.

You were the best and worst nights of my life fucking while the flames lick us at least you’re a distraction from my spiritual death. You’re a god damn angel in a crack den.

If death comes to claim us, my soul will wander until we meet again.

She greets death with a curtsy.