Many a fervid man writes books as cold and flat as graveyard stones.
Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.
He said true things, but called them by wrong names.
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
Since when was genius found respectable?
If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.