A Poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was it for this I uttered prayers, And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, That now, domestic as a plate, I should retire at half-past eight?

The only people I really hate are servants. They're not really human beings at all.

... but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight

Life isn't all beer and skittles; few of us have touched a skittle in years.

Oh, children, growing up to be Adventurers into sophistry, Forbear, forbear to be of those That read the rood to learn the rose.

Life must go on; I forget just why.

I had a little sorrow, Born of a little sin.