We Were Like Confirmed Opium-eaters: In Our

We May Taste Of Every Turn Of Chance - Now Rule As Kings, Now Serve As Slaves; Now Love, Now Hate; Now Prosper, And Now Perish. But Still, Through All, We Are The Same; For This Is The Marvel Of Identity.

Men And Women, Empires And Cities, Thrones, Principalities, And Powers, Mountains, Rivers, And Unfathomed Seas, Worlds, Spaces, And Universes, All Have Their Day, And All Must Go.

There Is No Loneliness Like The Loneliness Of Crowds, Especially To Those Who Are Unaccustomed To Them.

And Now Let Us Love And Take That Which Is Given Us, And Be Happy; For In The Grave There Is No Love And No Warmth, Nor Any Touching Of The Lips. Nothing Perchance, Or Perchance But Bitter Memories Of What Might Have Been.

It Is A Well-known Fact That Very Often, Putting The Period Of Boyhood Out Of The Argument, The Older We Grow The More Cynical And Hardened We Become; Indeed, Many Of Us Are Only Saved By Timely Death From Moral Petrification, If Not From Moral Corruption.