And each day brings it's pretty dust, Our soon-choked souls to fll And we forget because we must, And not because we will.

Resolve to be thyself: and know that he who finds himself, loses his misery.

The brave, impetuous heart yields everywhere to the subtle, contriving head.

Spare me the whispering, crowded room, the friends who come and gape and go, the ceremonious air of gloom - all, which makes death a hideous show.

Culture being a pursuit of our total perfection by means of getting to know, on all the matters which most concern us, the best which has been thought and said in the world.

And each day brings it's pretty dust, Our soon-choked souls to fll And we forget because we must, And not because we will.

Bald as the bare mountain tops are bald, with a baldness full of grandeur.