I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year. - Edna St. Vincent Millay

Read History: thus learn how small a space
You may inhabit, nor inhabit long
In crowding Cosmos — in that confined place
Work boldly; build your flimsy barriers strong;
Turn round and round, make warm your nest; among
The other hunting beasts, keep heart and face, — Not to betray the doomed and splendid race
You are so proud of, to which you belong.

For trouble comes to all of us: the rat
Has courage, in adversity, to fight;
But what a shining animal is man,
Who knows, when pain subsides, that is not that,
For worse than that must follow — yet can write
Music; can laugh; play tennis; even plan.

I love humanity but I hate people.

Many a bard's untimely death Lends unto his verses breath; Here's a song was never sung: Growing old is dying young.