O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!

And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky.

When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most

Should at that moment the full moon Step forth upon the hill, And memories hard to bear at noon, By moonlight harder still, Form in the shadows of the trees, - Things that you could not spare And live, or so you thought, yet these All gone, and you still there, A man no longer what he was, Not yet the thing he planned.

A person who publishes a book appears willfully in public eye with his pants down.

Life must go on; I forget just why.

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!