No compass has ever been invented for the high seas of matrimony.
Out of my great sorrows, I make little songs.
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing.
I bequeath all my property to my wife on the condition that she remarry immediately. Then there will be at least one man to regret my death.
I will not say that women have no character; rather, they have a new one every day.
A pine tree standeth lonely In the North on an upland bare; It standeth whitely shrouded With snow, and sleepeth there. It dreameth of a Palm tree Which far in the East alone, In the mournful silence standeth On its ridge of burning stone.