The Moving Finger Writes; And, Having Writ,

You Know, My Friends, With What A Brave Carouse I Made A Second Marriage In My House; Favored Old Barren Reason From My Bed, And Took The Daughter Of The Vine To Spouse.

We Are Thinking About Bad Only Those Who Are Worse Than We Are, And Those Who Are Better Than Us ... I'm Just Not Up To Us ... One Does Not Follow It Than Smell Roses. Another Of The Bitter Herbs Will Produce Honey. Give Bread To One - Will Remember Forever. Another Life Donation - Do Not Understand.

My Friend, Let's Not Think Of Tomorrow, But Let's Enjoy This Fleeting Moment Of Life.

We Are In Truth But Pieces On This Chess Board Of Life, Which In The End We Leave, Only To Drop One By One Into The Grave Of Nothingness.

There Was A Door To Which I Found No Key: There Was The Veil Through Which I Might Not See.