Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell.

Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are.

When all desire at last and all regret Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain, What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget?

Each hour until we meet is as a bird That wings from far his gradual way along The rustling covert of my soul.

Forse, se tu gustassi anco una volta La millesima parte de la gioie Che gusta un cor amato riamando, Diresti, ripentita, sospirando: Perduto e tutto il tempo C…

You ought to be thankful for the little things But little things are all you seem to give You're always putting off what we can do today Soap opera says you've…

I am. I was. I am not. I never am.