The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

God made thee good as thou art beautiful.

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

This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.

Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.

Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.