Fills The Air Around With Beauty.

I Learned To Love Despair.

As Falls The Dew On Quenchless Sands, Blood Only Serves To Wash Ambition's Hands.

I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received; We Have Enough Within Us The Meanest Vassal As The Loftiest Monarch, Not To Add To Each Other's Natural Burden Of Mortal Misery.

If I Could Always Read, I Should Never Feel The Want Of Company.

Man, Being Reasonable, Must Get Drunk; The Best Of Life Is But Intoxication.