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CXLIX



Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,

When I against myself with thee partake?

Do I not think on thee, when I forgot

Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?

Who hateth thee that I do call my friend,

On whom frown\'st thou that I do fawn upon,

Nay, if thou lour\'st on me, do I not spend

Revenge upon myself with present moan?

What merit do I in my self respect,

That is so proud thy service to despise,

When all my best doth worship thy defect,

Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?

  But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind,;

  Those that can see thou lov\'st, and I am blind.

 	--William Shakespeare

The only time I feel alive is when I\'m painting.
Vincent Van Gogh

O heart, we are old;
The living beauty is for younger men:
We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.
-Yeats, W.B., 1918