We love the things we love for what they are.
I never knew what was meant by choice of words. It was one word or none.
By working faithfully eight hours a day you may eventually get to be boss and work twelve hours a day.
What we live by we die by.
Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.
You can't get too much winter in the winter.