Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

Life is brief but love is LONG .

It is the little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.