The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.

Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive.

Oh, ye’ll tak’ the high road an’ I’ll tak’ the low road,
An’ I’ll be in Scotland before ye;
But me and my true love will never meet again,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond.

We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves.