Yet each man kills the thing he loves, by each let this be heard. Some do it with a bitter look, some with a flattering word. The coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword. Some kill their love when they are young, and some when they are old. Some strangle with the hands of lust, some with the hands of gold. The kindest use a knife, because the dead so soon grow cold. Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol
Posted on: Wed, 04 Sep 2013 15:43:48 +0000
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