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.

In science, read by preference the newest works. In literature, read the oldest. The classics are always modern.

All books are either dreams or swords,You can cut, or you can drug, with words.

For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men lived and worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.

There are few things so futile, and few so amusing, As a peaceful and purposeless sort of perusing Of old random jottings set down in a blank book You've unearthed from a drawer as you looked for your bank book

You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.