And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair; And they heard the words it said,- "Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!"

She lived, we'll say, A harmless life, she called a virtuous life, A quiet life, which was not life at all (But that she had not lived enough to know)

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever since, it grew more clean and white.

Definition of Love: A score of zero in tennis. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life.

I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

Don't get me wrong-painting's all right. But now that we have photography, what's the point?

Our Euripides the human, With his droppings of warm tears, and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.