Literary History Is The Great Morgue Where

It Is Only Kindred Griefs That Draw Forth Our Tears, And Each Weeps Really For Himself.

The Fundamental Evil Of The World Arose From The Fact That The Good Lord Has Not Created Money Enough.

If Thou Lookest On The Lime-leaf, Thou A Heart's Form Will Discover; Therefore Are The Lindens Ever Chosen Seats Of Each Fond Lover.

The Gazelles So Gentle And Clever Skip Lightly In Frolicsome Mood.

As The Moon's Fair Image Quaketh In The Raging Waves Of Ocean, Whilst She, In The Vault Of Heaven, Moves With Silent Peaceful Motion.