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The Nobel is a ticket to one\'s own funeral. No one has ever done anything after he got it.
T. S. EliotI never can feel certain of any truth but from a clear perception of its Beauty. -John Keats

LIV



O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem

By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem

For that sweet odour, which doth in it live.

The canker blooms have full as deep a dye

As the perfumed tincture of the roses.

Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly

When summer\'s breath their masked buds discloses:

But, for their virtue only is their show,

They live unwoo\'d, and unrespected fade;

Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;

Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made: 

  And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

  When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.

 	--William Shakespeare

LXXXIX



Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,

And I will comment upon that offence:

Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,

Against thy reasons making no defence.

Thou canst not love disgrace me half so ill,

To set a form upon desired change,

As I\'ll myself disgrace; knowing thy will,

I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange;

Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue

Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,

Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong,

And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 

  For thee, against my self I\'ll vow debate,

  For I must ne\'er love him whom thou dost hate.

 	--William Shakespeare