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I never can feel certain of any truth but from a clear perception of its Beauty. -John Keats

CIV



To me, fair friend, you never can be old,

For as you were when first your eye I ey\'d,

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,

Have from the forests shook three summers\' pride,

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn\'d,

In process of the seasons have I seen,

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn\'d,

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.

Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,

Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv\'d;

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,

Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv\'d:

  For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:

  Ere you were born was beauty\'s summer dead.

 	--William Shakespeare

I\'m interested in the fact that the less secure a man is, the more likely
he is to have extreme prejudice.
Clint Eastwood

VI



Then let not winter\'s ragged hand deface,

In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill\'d:

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place

With beauty\'s treasure ere it be self-kill\'d.

That use is not forbidden usury,

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;

That\'s for thy self to breed another thee,

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;

Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,

If ten of thine ten times refigur\'d thee:

Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,

Leaving thee living in posterity?

  Be not self-will\'d, for thou art much too fair

  To be death\'s conquest and make worms thine heir.

 	--William Shakespeare