Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.
Time can but make her beauty over again.
One should say before sleeping: I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knee and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.
The living can assist the imagination of the dead.
And the merry love the fiddle, and the merry love to dance.
Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while.