O rose, who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet, But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat,– Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee. – Elizabeth Barrett Browning
We grow with years more fragile in body, but morally stouter, and can throw off the chill of a bad conscience almost at once. – Logan Pearsall Smith, “Age and Death,” Afterthoughts, 1931
It is said that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer. – Author Unknown
