I bought the sweetness with this pain.

I do not wish to grow old, to outlive my illusions. Only a short respite from cares and sorrow, a brief time of flowers, and music, and love, and laughter, and ecstatic tears.

Words? I tell you not to write me letters I command you. Is it not enough to want you so in vain, but you send me what evokes you here before me -- this paper, all along whose lines your hand has lain?

All's well with thee if thou art in just hands.

There is nothing so entirely desirable in all the world as a few hours oblivion.

I shall pass Dawn on her way to earth, as I seek for a path through space.

I meant to write a song of battle, for storied deeds of war inspire I seemed to hear the cannon thunder, I seemed to see the smoke and fire. But oh, the pathos of the ending when brave men conquered in the fight, knelt, kissing yielded blood-stained colors!--my eyes are blurred, I cannot write.

Love's the little leaven that works the whole world glad.