I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
From Percy Bysshe Shelley
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
Change is certain. Peace is followed by disturbances; departure of evil men by their return. Such recurrences should not constitute occasions for sadness but realities for awareness, so that one may be happy in the interim.
First our pleasures die - and then our hopes, and then our fears - and when these are dead, the debt is due dust claims dust - and we die too.
Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.
Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
Twin-sister of Religion, Selfishness.
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Obscenity, which is ever blasphemy against the divine beauty in life, is a monster for which the corruption of society forever brings forth new food, which it devours in secret.
Familiar acts are beautiful through love.
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