Life is a frail moth flying Caught in the web of the years that pass.

Call him wise whose actions, words, and steps are all a clear because to a clear why.

Oh who can tell the range of joy or set the bounds of beauty?

The ache of empty arms was an old tale to you.

One by one, like leaves from a tree, / All my faiths have forsaken me.

Now at last I have come to see what life is, Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun, And the brave victories that seem so splendid Are never really won.

Beauty, more than bitterness, makes the heart break.

Can I ever know you / Or you know me?

I shall not let a sorrow die Until I find the heart of it, Nor let a wordless joy go by Until it talks to me a bit.

Wisdom is not acquired save as the result of investigation.

My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain.

I found more joy in sorrow than you could find in joy.

Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

No one worth possessing can be quite possessed.

My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain.

What we have never had, remains; It is the things we have that go.

I shall gather myself into my self again, I shall take my scattered selves and make them one.

When I can look life in the eyes, grown calm and very coldly wise, life will have given me the truth, and taken in exchange - my youth.

Only by love is life made real.