He lives the poetry that he cannot write.

The others write the poetry that they dare not realize." "I wonder is that really so, Harry ?" said Dorian Gray, putting some perfume on his handkerchief out of a large, gold-topped bottle that stood on the table.

"It must be, if you say it.

And now I am off.
Imogen is waiting for me.

Don't forget about to-morrow.