And I Live On, But In Grief

I Had Got This Far, And Was Thinking Of What To Say Next, And As My Habit Is, I Was Pricking The Paper Idly With My Pen. And I Thought How, Between One Dip Of The Pen And The Next, Time Goes On, And I Hurry, Drive Myself, And Speed Toward Death. We Are Always Dying. I While I Write, You While You Read, And Others While They Listen Or Stop Their Ears, They Are All Dying.

Man Has No Greater Enemy Than Himself. I Have Acted Contrary To My Sentiments And Inclination; Throughout Our Whole Lives We Do What We Never Intended, And What We Proposed To Do, We Leave Undone.

How Fortune Brings To Earth The Over-sure!

You Keep To Your Own Ways And Leave Mine To Me.

I Know And Love The Good, Yet, Ah! The Worst Pursue.