Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.

Poetry is a shuffling of boxes of illusions buckled with a strap of facts.

We read Robert Browning's poetry. Here we needed no guidance from the professor: the poems themselves were enough.

I fell in love, not deep, but I fell several times and then fell out.

Time says hush: by the gong of time you live. Listen and you hear time saying you were silent long before you came to life and you will again be silent long after you leave it, why not be a little silent now? Hush yourself, noisy little man. Time hushes all: the gong of time rang for you to come out of the hush and you were born. The gong of time will ring for you to go back to the same hush you came from. Winners and losers, the weak and the strong, those who say little and try to say it well, and those who babble and prattle their lives away, time hushes all.

A book is never a masterpiece: it becomes one. Genius is the talent of a dead man.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the women don't get you then the whiskey must.