The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet.

Out of us all/ That make rhymes,/ Will you choose/ Sometimes -/ As the winds use/ A crack in a wall/ Or a drain,/ Their joy or their pain/ To whistle through -/ Choose me,/ You English words?

I have come to the borders of sleep,/ The unfathomable deep/ Forest where all must lose/ Their way.

There is not any book/ Or face of dearest look/ That I would not turn from now/ To go into the unknown/ I must enter, and leave, alone,/ I know not how.

We feed the kids first. We use the pool water to flush the toilets, ... We are just trying to make things livable.

We in the Virgin Islands work hard, but we play hard, too.

The fairest things have fleetest end,/ Their scent survives their close:/ But the rose's scent is bitterness/ To him that loved the rose!