Dust Into Dust, And Under Dust To

How Much More Of The Mosque, Of Prayer And Fasting? Better Go Drunk And Begging Round The Taverns. Khayyam, Drink Wine, For Soon This Clay Of Yours Will Make A Cup, Bowl, One Day A Jar. When Once You Hear The Roses Are In Bloom, Then Is The Time, My Love, To Pour The Wine; Houris And Palaces And Heaven And Hell- These Are But Fairy-tales, Forget Them All.

I Sent My Soul Through The Invisible, Some Letter Of That After-life To Spell: And By And By My Soul Return'd To Me, And Answer'd: 'i Myself Am Heav'n And Hell

You Know How Little While We Have To Stay, And, Once Departed, May Return No More.

And That Inverted Bowl They Call The Sky, Whereunder Crawling Cooped We Live And Die, Lift Not Your Hands To It For Help-for It As Impotently Moves As You Or I

We Are Thinking About Bad Only Those Who Are Worse Than We Are, And Those Who Are Better Than Us ... I'm Just Not Up To Us ... One Does Not Follow It Than Smell Roses. Another Of The Bitter Herbs Will Produce Honey. Give Bread To One - Will Remember Forever. Another Life Donation - Do Not Understand.