A Man Nearly Sixty Is Just As

All Revolutions Are Treason Until They Are Accomplished.

What We Buy, And Pay For, Is Part Of Ourselves.

But The Lover's Power Is The Poet's Power. He Can Make Love From All The Common Strings With Which This World Is Strung.

... The Evil That Comes Out Of Your Lips, Into Your Own Bosom Will Fall.

All Changes Are More Or Less Tinged With Melancholy, For What We Are Leaving Behind Is Part Of Ourselves.