Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by

I have known more men destroyed by the desire to have wife and child and to keep them in comfort than I have seen destroyed by drink and harlots.

We had fed the heart on fantasies, The heart's grown brutal from the fare, More substance in our enmities Than in our love

No man has ever lived that had enough of children's gratitude or woman's love.

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.

The creations of a great writer are little more than the moods and passions of his own heart, given surnames and Christian names, and sent to walk the earth.