Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow

I would meet you upon this honestly. I that was near your heart was removed therefrom To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition. I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it Since what is kept must be adulterated? I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch: How should I use them for your closer contact?

With cats, some say, one rule is true: Don't speak till you are spoken to.

This is one moment, / But know that another / Shall pierce you with a sudden painful joy.

I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Disillusion can become itself an illusion If we rest in it.

Talent imitates, genius steals.