No more with dreams of grief doth love grow bitter
Nor trouble dim the lustre wont to glitter
In happy eyes. Decay alone decays;
A moment—death’s dull sleep is o’er and we
Drink the immortal morning air, Earine.
Mortimer Collins.
We live in a world, where one fool makes many fools, but one wise man only a few wise men.
Lichtenberg.