Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harm / Nor question much / That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm.

The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can

For I / Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, / Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

I stood / Among them, but not of them; in a shroud / Of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

It is not just a question of experience, nor is it a question of age ... There are some people who live only 20 years, but many, many people remember them because they knew how to live the time that was given to them. I'm not suggesting that you should live only 20 years. Live as long as you can, but from time to time, think '20 years, 20 years, 20 years', and put them together.

They said the wreath is still on the door.