True knowledge comes only through suffering.

Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.

The English have a scornful insular way Of calling the French light.

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!"

And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain

I, who thought to sink, was caught up into love, and taught the whole of life in a new rhythm.

My love for him was so exquisitely pure that if we all were capable of giving and receiving such a beautiful gift the world would be a far more brilliant place; I think we'd all be poets.