Death Devours All Lovely Things.

Pity Me That The Heart Is Slow To Learn What The Swift Mind Beholds At Every Turn.

The Young Are So Old, They Are Born With Their Fingers Crossed.

Where You Used To Be, There Is A Hole In The World, Which I Find Myself Constantly Walking Around In The Daytime, And Falling In At Night. I Miss You Like Hell.

But You, You Foolish Girl, You Have Gone Home To A Leaky Castle Across The Sea To Lie Awake In Linen Smelling Of Lavender, And Hear The Nightingale, And Long For Me.

We Think-although Of Course, Now, We Very Seldom Clearly Think- That The Other Side Of War Is Peace.