Backward I look upon my life$$$<br>And see one waste of storm and strife$$$<br>One wrack of sorrows$$$ hopes$$$ and pain$$$<br>Vanishing to arise again!<br>That life has moved through evening$$$ where<br>Continual shadows veiled my sphere;<br>From youth's horizon upward rolled<br>To life's meridian$$$ dark and cold.

I have not broken your heart — you have broken it; and in breaking it$$$ you have broken mine.

Work. Don't think. Relax.

And when he died$$$ I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all$$$ but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again...

But no man's a hero to himself.

Live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds.

God$$$ how we get our fingers in each other's clay. That's friendship$$$ each playing the potter to see what shapes we can make of each other.

The books are to remind us what asses and fools we are.

We earth men have a talent for ruining big$$$ beautiful things.

Let France have good mothers$$$ and she will have good sons.