To know the fact is all the best to do..
For life is not a paragraph and death is no parenthesis
For what the waves could never wash away. This proper youth has wasted in a day.
Painting is such a sweet sorrow.
o modest wantons! Wanton modesty!
Klunk! Klick! Every trip.
Death, be not proud though some have called the mighty and dreadful, for thou art no so.
He beats as it sweeps as it cleans
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain, beats upon my heart