I Made Man With Too Many Faults.

I Love Death Because He Breaks The Human Pattern And Frees Us From Pleasures Too Prolonged As Well As From The Pains Of This World. It Is Pleasant, Too, To Remember That Death Lies In Our Hands; He Must Come If We Call Him. ... I Think If There Were No Death, Life Would Be More Than Flesh And Blood Could Bear.

Truth Is Far And Flat, And Fancy Is Fiery; And Truth Is Cold, And People Feel The Cold, And They May Wrap Themselves Against It In Fancies That Are Fiery, But They Should Not Call Them Facts; And, Generally, Poets Do Not; They Are Shrewd, They Feel The Cold, Too, But They Know A Hawk From A Handsaw, A Fact From A Fancy, As None Knows Better.

The Flower And Fruit Of Love Are Mine The Ant, The Fieldmouse And The Mole

Life May Be Treacherous, But You Can Always Depend On Death.

Cry Pretty, Pretty, Pretty And You'll Be Able Very Soon Not Even To Cry Pretty And So Be Delivered Entirely From Humanity This Is Prettiest Of All, It Is Very Pretty.