Happy and thrice happy are those who enjoy an uninterrupted union, and whose love, unbroken by any sour complaints, shall not dissolve until the last day of their existence.
HoraceThough your threshing floor grind a hundred thousand bushels of corn, not for that reason will your stomach hold more than mine.
HoraceOur years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
Horace