Tis looking downward makes one dizzy.
Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to.
But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?
What joy is better than the news of friends?
The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!
The world and life's too big to pass for a dream