I Did Not Die, And Yet I

As Little Flowers, Which The Chill Of Night Has Bent And Huddled, When The White Sun Strikes, Grow Straight And Open Fully On Their Stems, So Did I, Too, With My Exhausted Force.

I Love To Doubt As Well As Know.

One Ought To Be Afraid Of Nothing Other Then Things Possessed Of Power To Do Us Harm, But Things Innoucuous Need Not Be Feared.

The Truth Thy Speech Doth Show, Within My Heart Reproves The Swelling Pride.

The Customs And Fashions Of Men Change Like Leaves On The Bough, Some Of Which Go And Others Come.