Bad Poets Imitate, Good Poets Steal.

We Fight For Lost Causes Because We Know That Our Defeat And Dismay May Be The Preface To Our Successors' Victory, Though That Victory Itself Will Be Temporary; We Fight Rather To Keep Something Alive Than In The Expectation That Anything Will Triumph.

Fare Forward, Travellers! Not Escaping From The Past Into Different Lives, Or Into Any Future; You Are Not The Same People Who Left That Station Or Who Will Arrive At Any Terminus, While The Narrowing Rails Slide Together Behind You.

My Life Is Light, Waiting For The Death Wind, Like A Feather On The Back Of My Hand.

And Went On In Sunlight, Into The Hofgarten, And Drank Coffee, And Talked For An Hour.

Fading, Fading: Strength Beyond Hope And Despair Climbing The Third Stair. Lord, I Am Not Worthy Lord, I Am Not Worthy But Speak The Word Only.