What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.
Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.
But first, on earth as vampire sent,Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent,Then ghastly haunt thy native place,And suck the blood of all thy race.There from thy daughter, sister, wife,At midnight drain...
When people say, "I've told you fifty times," / They mean to scold, and very often do; / When poets say, "I've written fifty rhymes," / They make you dread that they 'II recite them too;In gangs of fi...
the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, the first to welcome, the foremost to defend.
She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that's best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes...
We are all the fools of time and terror: DaysSteal on us and steal from us; yet we live,Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.
The lapse of ages changes all things - time - language - the earth - the bounds of the sea - the stars of the sky, and everything 'about, around, and underneath' man, except man himself, who has alway...
Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,In vain our fate in sighs deplore;Remembrance only can remain,But that, will make us weep the more.
Friendship is love without wings.
It is not in the storm or in the strifeWe feel benumbed and wish to be nor more,But in the after-silence on the shoreWhen all is lost except a little life.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink,Falling, like dew, upon a thought producesThat which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.
In secret we met -In silence I grieve,That thy heart could forget,Thy spirit deceive.If I should meet theeAfter long years,How should I greet thee? -With silence and tears
I awoke one morning to find myself famous.
When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,There is a rapture on the lonely shore,There is society, where none intrudes,By the deep sea, and music in its roar:I love not man the less, but Nature more
The great object of life is sensation- to feel that we exist, even though in pain.