A man in his own secret meditation / Is lost amid the labyrinth that he has made / In art or politics.

I Sing what was lost and dread what was won, / I walk in a battle fought over again.

It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike.

From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.

But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?

Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.

I know that I shall meet my fate somewhere among the clouds above; those that I fight I do not hate, those that I guard I do not love.