You ask me, How much time? I do not know. I know it means time enough to forget time.
With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!. . . Midway from nothing to the Deity!
Too low they build who build below the skies.
Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor ; who lives to fancy, never can be rich.
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
Instead of praying: 'Dear God, bring me someone fabulous,' try: 'Dear God, make me into someone fabulous. '
The bourgeoisie's weapon is starvation. If as a writer or artist you run counter to their narrow notions they simplyand silently withdraw your means of subsistence. I sometimes wonder how many people of talent are executed in this way every year.
It is in the contemplation of what you desire that you create what it is you want for yourself
Though lovers be lost love shall not.