“First our pleasures die – and then our hopes, and then our fears – and when these are dead, the debt is due dust claims dust – and we die too.”

The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.

Strange thoughts beget strange deeds.

And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.

Man who man would be, must rule the empire of himself.

I love snow, snow, and all the forms of radiant frost.

If God has spoken, why is the world not convinced.

The great instrument of moral good is the imagination.

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

In fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.

I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!

Before man can be free, and equal, and truly wise, he must cast aside the chains of habit and superstition; he must strip sensuality of its pomp, and selfishness of its excuses, and contemplate actions and objects as they really are.

Familiar acts are beautiful through love.

When the power of imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no other heaven.

The psychological and moral comfort of a presence at once humble and understanding-this is the greatest benefit that the dog has bestowed upon man.

There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!

We should keep the dead before our eyes, and honor them as though still living.

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

I need silence, and to be alone and to go out, and to save one hour to consider what has happened to my world, what death has done to my world.

So, have a little fun. Soon enough you’ll be dead and burning in Hell with the rest of your family.

Truly man is the king of beasts, for his brutality exceeds them. We live by the death of others. We are burial places.

Of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindest.

No one knows whether death may not be the greatest of all blessings for a man, yet men fear it as if they knew it was the greatest of evils.

I have died too many deaths that were not mine.