The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.

I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.

Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.

If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror, No vanity's displayed: I'm looking for the face I had Before the world was made.

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

I balanced all, brought all to mind, the years to come seemed waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind, in balance with this life, this death.