“How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?”
“There's always that seventh-grade girl who looks like she's 25. And you're like, How do you do it? How do you do it, Sarah Jaxheimer?Why is your hair always so shiny?!”
“Light on my heart, Light on my feet, Light in your eyes, I can't even speak Do you even know, How you make me weak”
“O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?”
“Thou canst not speak of thou dost not feel.”
“Thy shrunk voice sounds too calmly, sanely woeful to me. In no Paradise myself, I am impatient of all misery in others that is not mad. Thou should’st go mad, blacksmith; say, why dost thou not go mad? How can’st thou endure without being mad? Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou can’st not go mad?”