No man is an island.

All good things pass away.

The miracle is this—the more we share$$$ the more we have.

I found and island in your arms and country in your eyes.

When we talk about mortality$$$ we are talking about our children.

Only the dying man can tell how much time he has left.

Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both$$$ possess the oldest one.

All that is not perfect down to the smallest detail is doomed to perish.

How happy is the little Stone<br/>That rambles in the Road alone$$$<br/>And doesn't care about Careers<br/>And Exigencies never fears

I know that He exists. Somewhere in silence$$$ he has hid his rare life from our gross eyes.