How Strange A Thing Is Death, Bringing

Man Has Never Been The Same Since God Died.

A Grave Is Such A Quiet Place.

A Poem From Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was It For This I Uttered Prayers, And Sobbed And Cursed And Kicked The Stairs, That Now, Domestic As A Plate, I Should Retire At Half-past Eight?

Childhood Is Not From Birth To A Certain Age And At A Certain Age. The Child Is Grown, And Puts Away Childish Things. Childhood Is The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.

Beauty Never Slumbers; All Is In Her Name; But The Rose Remembers The Dust From Which It Came.