I have outlasted all desire, My dreams and I have grown apart; My grief alone is left entire, The gleamings of an empty heart. The storms of ruthless dispensation Have struck my flowery garland numb, I live in lonely desolation And wonder when my end will come. Thus on a naked tree-limb, blasted By tardy winter's whistling chill, A single leaf which has outlasted Its season will be trembling still.

My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?

Moral maxims are surprisingly useful on occasions when we can invent little else to justify our actions.

Don't be sad, don't be angry, if life deceives you! Submit to your grief - your time for joy will come, believe me.

I want to understand you, I study your obscure language.

It is better to have dreamed a thousand dreams that never were than never to have dreamed at all.

Write for pleasure and publish for money.