Truth is within ourselves. There is an inmost center in us all, where the truth abides in fullness.

A man in armor is his armor's slave.

Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!

Graved inside of it, "Italy".

What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.

Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!