To Love Is Not To

On A Day Of Burial There Is No Perspective--for Space Itself Is Annihilated. Your Dead Friend Is Still A Fragmentary Being. The Day You Bury Him Is A Day Of Chores And Crowds, Of Hands False Or True To Be Shaken, Of The Immediate Cares Of Mourning. The Dead Friend Will Not Really Die Until Tomorrow, When Silence Is Round You Again. Then He Will Show Himself Complete, As He Was--to Tear Himself Away, As He Was, From The Substantial You. Only Then Will You Cry Out Because Of Him Who Is Leaving And Whom You Cannot Detain.

There Is No Hope Of Joy Except In Human Relations.

Love Does Not Cause Suffering: What Causes It Is The Sense Of Ownership, Which Is Love's Opposite.

People Have Stars, But They Aren't The Same. For Travelers, The Stars Are Guides. For Other People, They're Nothing But Tiny Lights. And For Still Others, For Scholars, They're Problems... But All Those Stars Are Silent Stars. You, Though, You'll Have Stars Like Nobody Else... Since I'll Be Laughing On One Of Them, For You It'll Be As If All The Stars Are Laughing. You'll Have Stars That Can Laugh!... And It'll Be As If I Had Given You, Instead Of Stars, A Lot Of Tiny Bells That Know How To Laugh.

The Strong Are Strengthened By Reverses; The Trouble Is That The True Meaning Of Events Scores Next To Nothing In The Match We Play With Men. Appearances Decide Our Gains Or Losses And The Points Are Trumpery. And A Mere Semblance Of Defeat May Hopelessly Checkmate Us.