Not for the flag Of any land because myself was born there Will I give up my life. But I will love that land where man is free, And that will I defend.

After the feet of beauty fly my own.

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.

I am not at all in favor of hard work for its own sake; many people who work very hard indeed produce terrible things, and should most certainly not be encouraged.

The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief or grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,—it must have been Very pretty.

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