He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine. —… Continue reading Emily Brontë
The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul? — Oscar Wilde, De Profundis. (Fontamara, September 12th 1993) Originally published 1905.
Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul? ― John Keats, Letters of John Keats. (Oxford University Press, July 15, 1970) Originally published January 1st 1954.
If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad. — George Gordon Byron
Yea, all things live forever, though at times they sleep and are forgotten. ― H. Rider Haggard, She. (Oxford University Press, October 22, 1998) Originally published 1887.
And still I stood looking at the house, thinking how happy I should be if I lived there with her, and knowing that I never was happy with her, but always miserable. ― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations. (Chapman & Hall; Serialized 1860-1; book form 1861)
Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number- Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many-they are few. ― Percy Bysshe Shelley, from The Masque of Anarchy: Written on Occasion of the Massacre at Manchester. (1819)