The soul of man is of the imperishable substance of the stars!

Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day. Love's pleasure drives his love away, The painter's brush consumes his dreams.

How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.

Many times man lives and dies between his two eternities: that of race and that of Soul... A brief parting from those dear is the worst man has to fear... Though grave diggers' toil is long... They but thrust their buried men back in the human mind again.

All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.

For how can you compete Being honour bred, with one Who, were it proved he lies, Were neither shamed in his own Nor in his neighbour's eyes?

What shall I do for pretty girls Now my old bawd is dead?