Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line.

A grave is such a quiet place.

It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over.

... but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight

Here's a song was never sung: Growing old is dying young.

Catch from the board of beauty/ Such careless crumbs as fall.

Stranger, pause and look; From the dust of ages Lift this little book, Turn the tattered pages, Read me, do not let me die! Search the fading letters finding Steadfast in the broken binding All that once was I!