Tis well to be merry and wise, 'Tis well to be honest and true; It is best to be off with the old love, Before you are on with the new. — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share Image
“Alas! it is better to wander in perpetual sterility than to be tortured with the remembrance of flowers that have withered” — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share Image
The fountain of my heart dried up within me,-- With nought that loved me, and with nought to love, I stood upon the desert earth alone. And in that deep and utter agony, Though then, then even most unfit to die I fell upon my knees and prayed for death. — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share
My own lov'd light, That very soft and solemn spirit worships, That lovers love so well--strange joy is thine, Whose influence o'er all tides of soul hath power, Who lend'st thy light to rapture and despair; The glow of hope and wan hue of sick fancy Alike reflect thy rays: alike thou lightest The path of meeting or of parting… — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share
“She was not only unable to make the least allowance for a divergence from this way, but utterly unable to conceive that another existed for those who believed in a God, or acknowledged human power at all. She was as much at a loss to conceive how any good could come out of that Nazareth of her abhorrence, as an… — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share
Tis well to be merry and wise, 'Tis well to be honest and true; It is best to be off with the old love,… — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share Image
They waste life in what are called good resolutions-partial efforts at reformation, feebly commenced, heartlessly conducted, and hopelessly concluded. — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share Image
O wretched is the dame, to whom the sound, "Your lord will soon return," no phrase brings. — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share Image
“The next moment I was chained to my chair again,--the fires were lit, the bells rang out, the litanies were sung;--my feet were scorched to a cinder,--my muscles cracked, my blood and marrow hissed, my flesh consumed like shrinking leather,--the bones of my legs hung two black withering and moveless sticks in the ascending blaze;--it ascended, caught my hair,--I was… — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share
Yes, I laugh at all mankind, and the imposition that they dare to practice when they talk of hearts. I laugh at human passions… — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share Image
Nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon speaks to the murderer like the voice of solitude. — Charles Robert Maturin Copy Share Image
