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— Christina Rossetti"Come to me in the silence of the night, Come to me in the speaking silence of a dream. Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright as sunlight on a stream. Come back in tears, O memory, hope, love of finished years."
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When a man has been intemperate so long that shame no longer paints a blush upon his cheek, his liquor generally does it instead.
— George D. Prentice
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Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
— Horace
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