A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted.
Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.
The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.