Радіючи з дарів земного раю, на небесах нового не шукаю. - Lord Byron

Though the day of my Destiny's over,
And the star of my Fate hath declined,
Thy soft heart refused to discover
The faults which so many could find.

That is the usual method, but not mine — My way is to begin with the beginning;

Man. I tell thee, man! I have lived many years,
Many long years, but they are nothing now
To those which I must number: ages — ages — Space and eternity — and consciousness,
With the fierce thirst of death — and still unslaked! C. Hun. Why on thy brow the seal of middle age
Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far. 50 Man. Think’st thou existence doth depend on time?
It doth; but actions are our epochs: mine
Have made my days and nights imperishable,
Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore,
Innumerable atoms; and one desert,
Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break,
But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks,
Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.