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.

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of leaves Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.

Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age brings the red flare again.

That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees - Those dying generations-at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect.

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

What's memory but the ash That chokes our fires that have begun to sink?