If A Man Is Worth Knowing At

Love Is But The Discovery Of Ourselves In Others, And The Delight In The Recognition.

Sweet April's Tears, Dead On The Hem Of May.

If You Wish To Preserve Your Secret, Wrap It Up In Frankness.

Your Death And My Death Are Mainly Of Importance To Ourselves. The Black Plumes Will Be Stripped Off Our Hearses Within The Hour; Tears Will Dry, Hurt Hearts Close Again, Our Graves Grow Level With The Church-yard, And Although We Are Away, The World Wags On. It Does Not Miss Us; And Those Who Are Near Us, When The First Strangeness Of Vacancy Wears Off, Will Not Miss Us Much Either.

Men Praise Poverty, As The African Worships Mumbo Jumbo--from Terror Of The Malign Power, And A Desire To Propitiate At.