All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

Cards are war, in disguise of a sport.

Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know What thy errand here below?

For thy sake, tobacco, I would do anything but die.

Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds, exceed in interest a knock at the door.

Our spirits grow gray before our hairs.

My theory is to enjoy life, but my practice is against it.