Truly, This World Can Go On Without

Love Gives Itself; It Is Not Bought.

Our Blossoms Of Passion, Gay And Luxuriant Flowers, Are Bright And Full Of Fragrance, But They Beguile Us And Lead Us Astray, And Their Odor Is Deadly.

No Literature Is Complete Until The Language It Was Written In Is Dead.

I Will Be A Man Among Men; And No Longer A Dreamer Among Shadows.

The Things That Have Been And Shall Be No More, The Things That Are, And That Hereafter Shall Be, The Things That Might Have Been, And Yet Were Not, The Fading Twilight Of Joys Departed.