A poem is no place for an idea.
Go often to the house of thy friend; for weeds soon choke up the unused path.
He who boasts of his ancestry is praising the deeds of another.
Van was screaming something and Jolu was shouting and I looked at them for a second and that was when someone put a coarse.
The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities.
Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn whatever state I am in, therin to be content
Nothing is said that has not been said before.