Great Artists Have No Country.

Life Is A Sleep, Love Is A Dream; And You Have Lived If You Have Loved.

Happiness May Have But One Night, As Glory But One Day.

There Is No Worse Sorrow Than Remembering Happiness In The Day Of Sorrow.

It Was One Of Those Somber Evenings When The Sighing Of The Wind Resembles The Moans Of A Dying Man; A Storm Was Brewing, And Between The Splashes Of Rain On The Windows There Was The Silence Of Death. All Nature Suffers In Such Moments; The Trees Writhe In Pain And Twist Their Heads; The Birds Of The Fields Cower Under The Bushes; The Streets Of Cities Are Deserted.

I Can't Help It, The Idea Of The Infinite Torments Me.