Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love; Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough. Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead, and how In the grave all love shall sleep: Love is aweary now.
To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.
The intellectual imagination! With me all or not at all. NON SERVIAM!
My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.
Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance.
There's many a true word spoken in jest.