Each Man Has His Fancy.

Oh, The Cares Of Men! How Much Emptiness There Is In Human Concerns!

We Consume Our Tomorrows Fretting About Our Yesterdays.

Lives There The Man With Soul So Dead As To Disown The Wish To Merit The People's Applause, And Having Uttered Words Worthy To Be Kept In Cedar Oil To Latest Times, To Leave Behind Him Rhymes That Dread Neither Herrings Nor Frankincense.

The Man Who Wishes To Bend Me With His Tale Of Woe Must Shed True Tears - Not Tears That Have Been Got Ready Overnight.

Each Man Has His Own Desires; All Do Not Possess The Same Inclinations.