A kiss is a rosy dot placed on the “i” in loving.
I-I am going to be a storm-a flame- I need to fight whole armies alone; I have ten hearts; I have a hundred arms; I feel too strong to war with mortals- BRING ME GIANTS!
I would die at the stake rather than change a semi-colon!
A pessimist is a man who tells the truth prematurely.
I sing, not to hear the echo repeat, a shade fainter, my song! I think of light and not of glory! Singing is my fashion of waging war and bearing witness. And if my song is the proudest of songs, it is that I sing clearly to make the day rise clear!
Your name hangs in my heart like a bell’s tongue.
Take it, and turn to facts my fantasies.
No, In fairy tales When to the ill-starred Prince the lady says ‘I love you!’ all his ugliness fades fast But I remain the same, up to the last!
I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love!
Your neck. I want to kiss it.
A man does not fight to win; it is better to fight in vain...
After all, what is a kiss? A vow made at closer range, a more precise promise, a confession that contains its own proof, a seal placed on a pact that has already been signed; it’s a secret told to the mouth rather than to the ear.
A kiss, when all is said, what is it? An oath that’s given closer than before; A promise more precise; the sealing of Confessions that till then were barely breathed; A rosy dot placed on the i in loving.
You must believe me when I believe, and not when I doubt.
My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.
Proclaim your pride and bitterness loudly to the world, but to me speak softly, and tell me simply that she doesn’t love you.
A kiss, when all is said, what is it? A rosy dot placed on the ‘I’ in loving; Tis a secret told to the mouth instead of to the ear.
My wit is more polished than your mustache. The truth which I speak strikes more sparks from men’s hearts than your spurs do from the cobblestones.
I am what I am because early in life I decided that I would please at least myself in all things.
To joke in the face of danger is the supreme politeness, a delicate refusal to cast oneself as a tragic hero.