Hope knows not if fear speaks truth, nor fear whether hope be blind as she.

And the best and the worst of this is That neither is most to blame, If you have forgotten my kisses And I have forgotten your name.

Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

Wherever there is a grain of loyalty there is a glimpse of freedom.

The more congenial page of some tenth-rate poeticule worn out with failure after failure and now squat in his hole like the tailless fox, he is curled up to snarl and whimper beneath the inaccessible vine of song.

Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran, Pleasure with pain for leaven, Summer with flowers that fell, Remembrance fallen from heaven, And Madness risen from hell, Strength without hands to smite, Love that endures for a breath; Night, the shadow of light, And Life, the shadow of death.

Despair the twin-born of devotion.