SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun ’tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine.

My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night; but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!

Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age. The child is grown, and puts away childish things. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.

When I can make Of ten small words a rope to hang the world! "I had you and I have you now no more.

Ah, I could lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me

There is no God. But it does not matter. Man is enough.

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.