W. H. Auden Quotes About Death
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Time and fevers burn away Individual beauty from Thoughtful children, and the grave Proves the child ephemeral
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The words of a dead man are modified in the guts of the living.
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To save your world you asked this man to die; would this man, could he see you now, ask why?
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He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
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One rational voice is dumb: over a grave The household of Impulse mourns one dearly loved. Sad is Eros, builder of cities, And weeping anarchic Aphrodite.
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Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
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