With dark raven paper and twinkling white ink, I wrote my heart in the night’s sky.

Such is a communityof inviolable immunity, protectedfrom tampering or harpooningmutiny. Every better thinker’s impulse to shrink us (at the shoreline from our lifeblood’s deep pulse) uses disparaging scrutiny to sink us.

And yet methinks the older that one growsInclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughterLeaves us so doubly serious shortly after.

Upon the publication of Goethe’s epic drama, the Faustian legend had reached an almost unapproachable zenith. Although many failed to appreciate, or indeed, to understand this magnum opus in its entirety, from this point onward his drama was the rule by which all other Faust adaptations were measured. Goethe had eclipsed the earlier legends and became the undisputed authority on the subject of Faust in the eyes of the new Romantic generation. To deviate from his path would be nothing short of blasphemy.

To say goodbye is to die a little.

What a trajedy to be a martyr for love, yet we worship the characters anyways because they remind us of how we struggled.

Every broken heart has screamed at one time or another: Why can't you see who I truly am?

Cynics are simply thwarted romantics.

I believed that I was approaching the end of my days without having tasted to the full any of the pleasures for which my heart thirsted...Without having ever tasted that passion which, through lack of an object, was always suppressed. ...The impossibility of attaining the real persons precipitated me into the land of chimeras; and seeing nothing that existed worthy of my exalted feelings, I fostered them in an ideal world which my creative imagination soon peopled with beings after my own heart.

The most introspective of souls are often those that have been hurt the most.