To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
The dust will not settle in our time. And when it does some great roaring machine will come and whirl it all skyhigh again.
How time flies when one has fun!
As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.
That passed the time. It would have passed in any case. Yes, but not so rapidly.
That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.