Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.
To me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.
The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.