Gray Hairs Seem To My

Sorrows Are Like Thunderclouds, In The Distance They Look Black, Over Our Heads Scarcely Gray.

The Darkness Of Death Is Like The Evening Twilight; It Makes All Objects Appear More Lovely To The Dying.

The Heart Needs Not For Its Heaven Much Space, Nor Many Stars Therein, If Only The Star Of Love Has Arisen.

Whenever, At A Party, I Have Been In The Mood To Study Fools, I Have Always Looked For A Great Beauty: They Always Gather Round Her Like Flies Around A Fruit Stall.

Like The Greatest Virtue And The Worst Dogs, The Fiercest Hatred Is Silent.