Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.

Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress; and love has changed to kindliness.

And I shall find some girl perhaps, and a better one than you, With eyes as wise, but kindlier, and lips as soft, but true, and I dare say she will do.

Youth is stranger than fiction.

I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation. These I shall have.

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.

Oh! death will find me long before I tire of watching you.