The Centuries Will Burn Rich Loads With

All The Poet Can Do Today Is Warn. That Is Why True Poets Must Be Truthful.

All I Ask Is To Be Held Above The Barren Wastes Of Want.

Those Who, Like The Beasts, Have No Such Hope, Pass Their Old Age Shrouded With An Inward Gloom.

The Old Lie:dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori.

Strange Friend,' I Said,'here Is No Cause To Mourn.' 'none,'said The Other,'save The Undone Years, The Hopelessness.whatever Hope Is Yours Was My Life Also; I Went Hunting Wild After The Wildest Beauty In The World.