We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the moment of waking from a troubled dream: it may be so the moment after death.

Every individual has a place to fill in the world, and is important, in some respect, whether he chooses to be so or not.

What would a man do, if he were compelled to live always in the sultry heat of society, and could never bathe himself in cool solitude?

Nobody, I think, ought to read poetry, or look at pictures or statues, who cannot find a great deal more in them than the poet or artist has actually expressed.

Whenever in my dreams, I see the dead, they always appear silent, bothered, strangely depressed, quite unlike their dear bright selves. I am aware of them, wit…

Glad I'm not an astronaut...I'd be fucking dead.

Is all our Life, then but a dream Seen faintly in the goldern gleam Athwart Time's dark resistless stream? Bowed to the earth with bitter woe Or laughing at so…