Thought Precedes Action As Lighting Does Thunder.

It Is Only Kindred Griefs That Draw Forth Our Tears, And Each Weeps Really For Himself.

First, I Thought, Almost Despairing, This Must Crush My Spirit Now; Yet I Bore It, And Am Bearing- Only Do Not Ask Me How.

Literary History Is The Great Morgue Where All Seek The Dead Ones Whom They Love, Or To Whom They Are Related.

Nothing Is More Futile Than Theorizing About Music. No Doubt There Are Laws, Mathematically Strict Laws, But These Laws Are Not Music; They Are Only Its Conditions? The Essence Of Music Is Revelation.

Graves They Say Are Warm'd By Glory; Foolish Words And Empty Story.