"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The soul that rises with us, our life"s star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar;
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But railing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home."
-William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
Unfortunate is he who cannot gain a few sincere friends during his life and more unfortunate is the one who has gained them and then lost them (through his deeds).
