Maxioms by Alexander Smith
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not read more
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
