If there were dreams to sell,       What would you buy? Some cost a passing bell;       Some a light sigh, That shakes from Life's fresh crown Only a rose-leaf down. If there were dreams to sell, Merry and sad to tell,       And the crier rang the bell,       What would you buy?

A cottage lone and still,       With bowers nigh, Shadowy, my woes to still,       Until I die. Such pearl from Life's fresh crown Fain would I shake me down. Were dreams to have at will, This best would heal my ill,       This would I buy.

Fear of the unknown.

From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Swinburne, ""The Garden of Proserpine""

A chip off the old block.

Rx for a medico.

A peculiar treatment plan.

An original.

The power of personality.

L'amour et la mort.