The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
Man wants but little, nor that little long; How soon must he resign his very dust, Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!
Man wants little, nor that little long.
We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.
To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long.