As long as I live I shall always be My Self - and no other, Just me.

Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.

As soon as they're out of your sight, you are out of their mind.

As long as I live I shall always be My Self - and no other, Just me.

After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts - like a Chinese nest of boxes - oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front - in our ancestors, back and back until.

Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are-- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.

The only catalogue of this world's goods that really counts is that which we keep in the silence of the mind.