Joy, shipmate, joy! (Pleased to my soul at death I cry), Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last, she leaps! She swiftly courses from the shore, Joy, shipmate, joy!

O to be self-balanced for contingencies, to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.

From this hour, freedom! Going where I like, my own master.

This hour I tell things in confidence/ I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.

I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else.

Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.