And All The Loveliest Things

Beauty Never Slumbers; All Is In Her Name; But The Rose Remembers The Dust From Which It Came.

... But The Rain Is Full Of Ghosts Tonight

It's Not True That Life Is One Damn Thing After Another; It Is One Damn Thing Over And Over.

When We Are Old And These Rejoicing Veins Are Frosty Channels To A Muted Stream, And Out Of All Our Burning There Remains No Feeblest Spark To Fire Us, Even In Dream, This Be Our Solace: That It Was Not Said When We Were Young And Warm And In Our Prime, Upon Our Couch We Lay As Lie The Dead, Sleeping Away The Unreturning Time.

He That Would Eat Of Love Must Eat It Where It Hangs.