A Lover Always Thinks Of

Glory Is A Poison, Good To Be Taken In Small Doses.

The Most Real Of All Splendors Are Not In Outward Things, They Are Within Us.

For Pain Is Perhaps But A Violent Pleasure? Who Could Determine The Point Where Pleasure Becomes Pain, Where Pain Is Still A Pleasure? Is Not The Utmost Brightness Of The Ideal World Soothing To Us, While The Lightest Shadows Of The Physical World Annoy?

Economized Love Is Never Real Love.

Law Is A Silvery Web That Lets The Big Flies Pass And Catches All The Small Ones.