It is sweet to think I was a companion in an expedition that never ends

The purpose of poetry is to remind us / how difficult it is to remain just one person.

I imagine the earth when I am no more: Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley. Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born, Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.

Consciousness even in my sleep changes primary colors. The features of my face melt like a wax doll in the fire. And who can consent to see in the mirror the mere face of man?

Grow your tree of falsehood from a small grain of truth.

The death of a man is like the fall of a mighty nation That had valiant armies, captains, and prophets, And wealthy ports and ships all over the seas.

A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.