He Who Doesn't Lose His Wits Over

How Can Such Deep-imprinted Images Sleep In Us At Times, Till A Word, A Sound, Awake Them?

It Is Not I Who Die, When I Die, But My Sin And Misery.

Nature Meant Woman To Be Her Masterpiece.

Yesterday I Lived, Today I Suffer, Tomorrow I Die; But I Still Think Fondly, Today And Tomorrow, Of Yesterday.

For The Will And Not The Gift Makes The Giver.