To forget oneself is to be happy.
It is only to the happy that tears are a luxury.
History says, 'Don't hope on this side of the grave.'
A disaster where marble has been substituted for imagination.
Much that we read of Russia is imagination and desire only.
You are indebted to you imagination for three-fourths of your importance.
One can live in the shadow of an idea without grasping it.
Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.
No change of circumstances can repair a defect of character.
Even one death is horrible.
Hell, madam, is to love no longer.
But death's acquisitive instincts will win.
There is risk everywhere. Being alive carries the risk of death.
Death unites as well as separates; it silences all paltry feeling.
Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.
I don't want to hear about my death.
I have absurdly vivid dreams.
Keep true to the dreams of your youth.
But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travellers notoriously false?
Perhaps life is just that... a dream and a fear.
Writers write. Dreamers talk about it.
