Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted.
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- How wonderful is death! Death and his brother sleep.
- He has outsoared the shadow of our night; envy and calumny and hate and pain, and that unrest which men miscall delight, can touch him not and torture not again; from the contagion of the world’s slow stain, he is secure.
- Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, — but it returneth.
- Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep — he hath awakened from the dream of life — ‘Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife.
- Cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.
- Obscenity, which is ever blasphemy against the divine beauty in life… is a monster for which the corruption of society forever brings forth new food, which it devours in secret.