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?

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.

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?

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

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

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

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