A Man Of Eighty Has Outlived Probably

Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The Fatal Gift Of Beauty.

What Is Death, So It Be But Glorious? 'tis A Sunset; And Mortals May Be Happy To Resemble The Gods But In Decay.

A Woman Being Never At A Loss... The Devil Always Sticks By Them.

Well, Well, The World Must Turn Upon Its Axis, And All Mankind Turn With It, Heads Or Tails, And Live And Die, Make Love And Pay Our Taxes, And As The Veering Winds Shift, Shift Our Sails.

And Hold Up To The Sun My Little Taper.