What rare days were those, When my chief duty was to write a song.

O sweet September, thy first breezes bring The dry leaf's rustle and the squirrel's laughter, The cool fresh air whence health and vigor spring And promise of exceeding joy hereafter.

Here with my beer I sit, while golden moments flit: alas! They pass unheeded by: and as they fly, I, being dry, sit idly sipping here, my beer.

The living need charity more than the dead.

But leave me to my beer! Gold is dross, love is loss, so if I gulp my sorrows down, or see them drown in foamy draughts of old nut-brown, then I do wear the crown, without the cross!

Life for the living, and rest for the dead!

I love this simple maiden, She grows upon me more and more, And--ask the moon who 't was that kissed, Last night upon the shore!

I hold that all the evil we know on earth finds in this violence done to love its true and legitimate birth.

The glass of your life is darkened, and darkly through it you see distorted and ghastly fragments of duty and destiny.

I let my summer days pass idly on.

Experience is bitter, but its teachings we retain; It has taught me this--who once has loved, loves never on earth again!

Maxim 8: Mockery and derision have their place. Usually, it's on the far side of the airlock.-The Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries

Asking questions is what brains were born to do, at least when we were young children. For young children, quite literally, seeking explanations is as deeply rooted a drive as seeking food or water.

You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. He had wondered once why love was always phrased in terms of burning. The conflagration in his own veins, now, gave the answer.

There were many, many times thereafter that Don regretted having enlisted - but so has every man who ever volunteered for military service.

But when I think of superchicks, I think of the roles, not the variety.

I carry one black mascara and one brown.

I go to the gym every morning for a couple of hours, then I come to work, whatever is on the plate for the day, I do it. I don't ask many questions, I go where I am told to.

Reflection in the mirror makes reality look at you

The desert is a place of bones, where the innards are turned out, to desiccate into dust.

It is somethingit can be everything-to have found a fellow bird with whom you can sit among the rafters while the drinking and boasting and reciting and fighting go on below.