William Butler Yeats
He wishes for the cloths of heaven
the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh,
When I am sad and
weary. When I think all hope has gone.
When I walk along High Holborn, I think of you with nothing on
Those have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont