Never a lip is curved with pain that can't be kissed into smiles again.

With the smile that was childlike and bland.

Never a lip is curved with pain That can't be kissed into smiles again

One big vice in a man is apt to keep out of a great many smaller ones

And I hear from the outgoing ship in the bay The song of the sailors in glee: So I think of the luminous footprints that bore The comfort o'er dark Galilee, And wait for the signal to go to the shore, To the ship that is waiting for me.

The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.