Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, 'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked. And he was rich-yes, richer than a king- And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place. So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Are we no greater than the noise we make Along one blind atomic pilgrimage Whereon by crass chance billeted we go Because our brains and bones and cartilage Wi…

He was himself and he had lost the speed He started with, and he was left behind.

A thousand golden sheaves were lying there, Shining and still, but not for long to stay- As if a thousand girls with golden hair Might rise from where they sle…

Depression presents itself as a realism regarding the rottenness of the world in general and the rottenness of your life in particular.

As I came down the Highgate Hill, The Highgate Hill, the Highgate Hill, As I came down the Highgate Hill I met the sun's bravado, And saw below me, fold on fol…

A wise man poor Is like a sacred book that 's never read,- To himself he lives, and to all else seems dead. This age thinks better of a gilded fool Than of a t…