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)
I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on… Continue reading Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sometimes I have the strangest feeling about you. Especially when you are near me as you are now. It feels as though I had a string tied here under my left rib where my heart is, tightly knotted to you in a similar fashion. And when you go, with all that distance between us, I… Continue reading Charlotte Brontë
I see when men love women. They give them but a little of their lives. But women, when they love, give everything. — Oscar Wilde