Sleep Is Lovely, Death Is Better Still,

Ordinarily He Was Insane, But He Had Lucid Moments When He Was Merely Stupid

Sweet May Hath Come To Love Us, Flowers, Trees, Their Blossoms Don; And Through The Blue Heavens Above Us The Very Clouds Move On.

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers, And As The Human Heart, Imagining Itself Alone And Unwatched, Feels Most Deeply In The Night-time, So Seems It As If The Flowers, In Musing Modesty, Await The Mantling Eventide Ere They Give Themselves Up Wholly To Feeling...

I Consider It A Degradation And A Stain On My Honor To Submit To Baptism In Order To Qualify Myself For State Employment In Prussia.

If One Has No Heart, One Cannot Write For The Masses.