A Woman's Pity Sometimes Makes

She Lived, We'll Say, A Harmless Life, She Called A Virtuous Life, A Quiet Life, Which Was Not Life At All (but That She Had Not Lived Enough To Know)

Many A Crown Covers Bald Foreheads.

What I Do And What I Dream Include Thee, As The Wine Must Taste Of Its Own Grapes.

Love That Endures, From Life That Disappears!

The Charm, One Might Say The Genius, Of Memory Is That It Is Choosy, Chancy And Temperamental; It Rejects The Edifying Cathedral And Indelibly Photographs The Small Boy Outside, Chewing A Hunk Of Melon In The Dust.