The thoughtful soul to solitude retires.

Yes, the first morning of creation wrote what the last dawn of reckoning shall read.

I hide my distress, just likethe blessed birds hide themselveswhen they are preparing to die. Wine! Wine, roses, music and yourindifference to my sadness, my loved-one!

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate; And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

When I want to understand what is happening today or try to decide what will happen tomorrow, I look back.

Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

We are in truth but pieces on this chess board of life, which in the end we leave, only to drop one by one into the grave of nothingness.