There Is Nothing Good In This World

Death, Which We Are Accustomed To Consider An Evil, Really Acts For Us The Friendliest Part, And Takes Away The Commonplace Of Existence.

God Has Thickly Strewn Infinity With Grandeur.

The Greatness Of An Artist Or A Writer Does Not Depend On What He Has In Common With Other Artists And Writers, But On What He Has Peculiar To Himself.

The Truly Great Rest In The Knowledge Of Their Own Deserts, Nor Seek The Conformation Of The World.

The Sun Was Down, And All The West Was Paved With Sullen Fire. I Cried, Behold! The Barren Beach Of Hell At Ebb Of Tide.