When The Poet Died His Cat Was

For Though I Am A Body Of This Earth, My Firm Desire Is Born From The Stars.

I Had Got This Far, And Was Thinking Of What To Say Next, And As My Habit Is, I Was Pricking The Paper Idly With My Pen. And I Thought How, Between One Dip Of The Pen And The Next, Time Goes On, And I Hurry, Drive Myself, And Speed Toward Death. We Are Always Dying. I While I Write, You While You Read, And Others While They Listen Or Stop Their Ears, They Are All Dying.

It Is More Honorable To Be Raised To A Throne Than To Be Born To One. Fortune Bestows The One, Merit Obtains The Other.

Man Has No Greater Enemy Than Himself. I Have Acted Contrary To My Sentiments And Inclination; Throughout Our Whole Lives We Do What We Never Intended, And What We Proposed To Do, We Leave Undone.

I Would Have Preferred To Have Been Born In Any Other Time Than Our Own.