Men come of age at sixty, women at fifteen.

Is it not possible that the ultimate end is gaiety and music and a dance of joy?

I would think Until I found Something I can never find; - Something Lying On the ground, In the bottom Of my mind.

Let the past be content with itself, for man needs forgetfulness as well as memory

A woman is a branchy tree and man a singing wind; and from her branches carelessly he takes what he can find.

Women and birds are able to see without turning their heads, and that is indeed a necessary provision for they are both surrounded by enemies.

Tell me your past, my beloved, for a man is his past, and is to be known by it.