"All my past life is mine no more,

The flying hours are gone,

Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,

Whose images are kept in store

By memory alone."

Love and Life: A Song

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?

To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,

To act a lover's or a Roman's part?

Is there no bright reversion in the sky,

For those who greatly think, or bravely die?"

Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady

Alexander Pope