Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs.
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.
A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that's the reason he himself's so dirty
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.