The friends who met here and embraced are gone, Each to his own mistake.
Sob, heavy world Sob as you spin, Mantled in mist Remote from the happy.
If there are any souls in hell, it is because that is where they insist on being.
To be happy means to be free, not from pain or fear, but from care or anxiety.
The class distinctions proper to a democratic society are not those of rank or money, still less, as is apt to happen when these are abandoned, of race, but of age.
About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters; How well they understood Its human position; how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along.