I do not wish to grow old, to outlive my illusions. Only a short respite from cares and sorrow, a brief time of flowers, and music, and love, and laughter, and ecstatic tears.

I shall pass Dawn on her way to earth, as I seek for a path through space.

I bought the sweetness with this pain.

Love's the little leaven that works the whole world glad.

Words? I tell you not to write me letters; I command you. Is it not enough to want you so in vain, but you send me what evokes you here before me -- this paper, all along whose lines your hand has lain?

There is nothing so entirely desirable in all the world as a few hours oblivion.

All's well with thee if thou art in just hands.