The dead might as well try to speak to the living as the old to the young.
Oh, that's the beauty of the rose, that it blossoms and dies.
Men are all right for friends, but as soon as you marry them they turn into cranky old fathers, even the wild ones.
What if - what if Life itself were the sweetheart?
Oh, the Germans classify, but the French arrange.
People live through such pain only once. Pain comes again—but it finds a tougher surface.