For Frequent Tears Have Run; The Colours

Happy Are All Free Peoples, Too Strong To Be Dispossessed. But Blessed Are Those Among Nations Who Dare To Be Strong For The Rest!

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless.

It Is Difficult To Get Rid Of People When You Once Have Given Them Too Much Pleasure.

God Himself Is The Best Poet, And The Real Is His Song.

Guess Now Who Holds Thee?'--'death,' I Said. But, There, The Silver Answer Rang, . . . 'not Death, But Love.