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Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
– Amy Lowell
For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.
Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me, and drench me in loneliness.
Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation.
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
Let us be of cheer, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those which never come.
Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.
In science, read by preference the newest works. In literature, read the oldest. The classics are always modern.
Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
I am tired, beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little ink drops, and posting it. And I scald alone, here, under the fire of the great moon.
Youth condemns; maturity condones.
Take everything easy and quit dreaming and brooding and you will be well guarded from a thousand evils.