Clouds on clouds, in volumes driven, curtain round the vault of heaven.

But though first love's impassioned blindness Has passed away in colder light, I still have thought of you with kindness, And shall do, till our last goodnight. The ever-rolling silent hours Will bring a time we shall not know, When our young days of gathering flowers Will be an hundred years ago.

Laughter is pleasant, but the exertion at my age is too much for me.

The juice of the grape is the liquid quintessence of concentrated sunbeams.

Not drunk is he who from the floor - Can rise alone and still drink more; But drunk is They, who prostrate lies, Without the power to drink or rise.

I never failed to convince an audience that the best thing they could do was to go away.

Clouds on clouds, in volumes driven, curtain round the vault of heaven.