The best prophet of the future is the past.
Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on.
Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die.
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than of expense.