From A Little Spark May Burst A

Thou Shall Know By Experience How Salt The Savor Is Of Others' Bread, And How Sad A Path It Is To Climb And Descend Another's Stairs.

I Found Myself Within A Forest Dark, For The Straightfoward Pathway Had Been Lost. Ah Me! How Hard A Thing Is To Say, What Was This Forest Savage, Rough, And Stern, Which In The Very Thought Renews The Fear. So Bitter Is It, Death Is Little More.

He Who Sees A Need And Waits To Be Asked For Help Is As Unkind As If He Had Refused It.

All Your Renown Is Like The Summer Flower That Blooms And Dies; Because The Sunny Glow Which Brings It Forth, Soon Slays With Parching Power.

How Come I Never Meet Any Nice Girls?