Death Devours All Lovely Things.

I Saw And Heard, And Knew At Last The How And Why Of All Things, Past, And Present, And Forevermore.

For The Body At Best Is A Bundle Of Aches, Longing For Rest; It Cries When It Wakes.

Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare.

My Heart Is Warm With The Friends I Make, And Better Friends I'll Not Be Knowing, Yet There Isn't A Train I Wouldn't Take, No Matter Where It's Going.

The Only People I Really Hate Are Servants. They're Not Really Human Beings At All.