While we're talking, time will have meanly run on... pick today's fruits, not relying on the future in the slightest.
Scribblers are a self-conceited and self-worshipping race.
The envious man grows lean at the success of his neighbor.
Better wilt thou live...by neither always pressing out to sea nor too closely hugging the dangerous shore in cautious fear of storms.
What has this unfeeling age of ours left untried, what wickedness has it shunned?
The mob may hiss me, but I congratulate myself while I contemplate my treasures in their hoard.