Everything mortal has moments immortal
On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns; maturity condones.
Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.
May is much sunshine through small leaves.
Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.