And I never started to plow in my life That some one did not stop in the road And take me away to a dance or picnic. I ended up with forty acres; I ended up with a broken fiddle— And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories, And not a single regret.

Immortality is not a gift, Immortality is an achievement; And only those who strive mightily Shall possess it.

In time you shall see Fate approach you In the shape of your own image in the mirror.

the much-sought prize of eternal youth Is just arrested growth.

Did I follow Truth wherever she led, And stand against the whole world for a cause, And uphold the weak against the strong? If I did I would be remembered among men.

This is a man with an old face, always old... There was pathos, in his face, and in his eyes. The early weariness; and sometimes tears in his eyes, Which he let slip unconsciously on his cheek, Or brushed away with an unconcerned hand. There were tears for human suffering, or for a glance Into the vast futility of life, Which he had seen from the first, being old When he was born.

To this generation I would say: Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty.