I think it makes small difference to the dead, if they are buried in the tokens of luxury. All that is an empty glorification left for those who live.

A coward turns away, but a brave man's choice is danger.

To the fool, he who speaks wisdom will sound foolish.

Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.

Lady, the sun's light to our eyes is dear, And fair the tranquil reaches of the sea, And flowery earth in May, and bounding waters; And so right many fair things I might praise; Yet nothing is so radiant and so fair As for souls childless, with desire sore-smitten, To see the light of babes about the house.

He is life's liberating force. He is release of limbs and communion through dance. He is laughter, and music in flutes. He is repose from all cares -- he is sleep! When his blood bursts from the grape and flows across tables laid in his honor to fuse with our blood, he gently, gradually, wraps us in shadows of ivy-cool sleep.

I envy that man who passes through life safely, to the world and fame unknown.