Requiescat Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew. Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone She is at rest. Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life’s buried here, Heap earth upon it.

There are only two kinds of women, the plain and the coloured.

Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same.

In the common world of fact the wicked were not punished, nor the good rewarded. Success was given to the strong, failure thrust upon the weak. That was all.

Youth! There is nothing like youth. The middle-aged are mortgaged to Life. The old are in Life's lumber

The State is to make what is useful. The individual is to make what is beautiful.

They flaunt their conjugal felicity in one's face, as if it were the most fascinating of sins.