But certain winds will make men's temper bad.

Perhaps the wind Wails so in winter for the summer's dead, And all sad sounds are nature's funeral cries For what has been and is not.

Our deeds still travel with us from afar. And what we have been makes us what we are.

Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.

In every parting there is an image of death.

The strongest principle of growth lies in human choice.