For Tyme Ylost May Nought Recovered Be.

If Were Not Foolish Young, Were Foolish Old.

Yet In Our Ashen Cold Is Fire Yreken.

The Life So Brief, The Art So Long In The Learning, The Attempt So Hard, The Conquest So Sharp, The Fearful Joy That Ever Slips Away So Quickly - By All This I Mean Love, Which So Sorely Astounds My Feeling With Its Wondrous Operation, That When I Think Upon It I Scarce Know Whether I Wake Or Sleep.

A Love Grown Old Is Not The Love Once New.

One Cannot Be Avenged For Every Wrong; According To The Occasion, Everyone Who Knows How, Must Use Temperance.