The living can assist the imagination of the dead.

I spit into the face of time that has transfigured me

And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.

That beautiful mild woman for whose sake There's many a one shall find out all heartache On finding that her voice is sweet and low Replied, 'To be born a woman is to know- Although they do not talk of it at school - That we must labor to be beautiful.

My father was an angry and impatient teacher and flung the reading book at my head.

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

Evil comes to us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.