Sappho survives, because we sing her songs; And Eschylus, because we read his plays!
The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
Imperfection means perfection hid.
Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds?
When pain ends, gain ends too.
Tis looking downward makes one dizzy.