“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.”

There is no disease, bodily or mental, which adoption of vegetable diet, and pure water has not infallibly mitigated, wherever the experiment has been fairly tried.

Sometimes it’s better to put love into hugs than to put it into words. Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.

When my cats aren’t happy, I’m not happy. Not because I care about their mood but because I know they’re just sitting there thinking up ways to get even.

Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs, – To the silent wilderness, Where the soul need not repress Its music.

The more we study the more we discover our ignorance.

I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, when the winds are breathing low, and the stars are shining bright.

The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.

Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, – but it returneth!

Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number- Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many-they are few.

The howl of self-interest is loud but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.

The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset’s fire.

History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal.

Poets, not otherwise than philosophers, painters, sculptors, and musicians, are, in one sense, the creators, and, in another, the creations, of their age.

Love’s very pain is sweet.

A single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought.

Every poem should remind the reader that they are going to die.

Sleep, those little slices of death – how I loathe them.

I feel sad that he’s just a voice now.

If i could be assured of your destruction, i would in the interest of the public, cheerfully accept my death.

What a simple thing death is, just as simple as the falling of an autumn leaf.

What a simple thing death is, just as simple as the falling of an autumn leaf.

I started with this idea in my head, “There’s two things I’ve got a right to, death or liberty.

I started with this idea in my head, “There’s two things I’ve got a right to, death or liberty.