April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.
The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed.
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere.
Life must go on, Though good men die.
Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that; but some place set apart for it.