“You’re walking by the tomb of Battiades, Who knew well how to write poetry, and enjoy Laughter at the right moment, over the wine.”

A good man never dies.

More lightly do his sorrows press upon a man, when to a friend or fellow traveller he tells his griefs.

A big book is a big misfortune.

I abhor, too, the roaming lover, nor do I drink from every well; I loathe all things in common.

A great book is like great evil.

Nothing unattested do I sing.

Set a thief to catch a thief.

Here sleeps Saon, of Acanthus, son of Dicon, a holy sleep: say not that the good die.

Two goddesses now must Cyprus adore; The Muses are ten, and the Graces are four; Stella’s wit is so charming, so sweet her fair face, She shines a new Venus, a Muse, and a Grace.

O Charidas, what of the under world? Great darkness. And what of the resurrection? A lie. And Pluto? A fable; we perish utterly.

Big book, a big bore.

To little men, gods send little things.

I wept as I remembered how often you and I had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.

And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales awake; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

I don’t know how you are so familiar to me-or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before-in another time, a different place, some other existence.

Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand the notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right to know one other.

In a sea of strangers, you’ve longed to know me. Your life spent sailing to my shores.

Nobody can guarantee the real terms per pupil funding increase. In the Labour party’s manifesto we know the figures don’t add up.

Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot.

Perhaps our own opposition to even the level of European integration we have now, let alone any more, is well known.

We all know the stories about the Human Rights Act. About the illegal immigrant who cannot be deported because, and I am not making this up, he had a pet cat.

I lived in countries that had no democracy. so I don’t find myself in the same luxury as you do. You grew up in freedom, and you can spit on freedom because you don’t know what it is not to have freedom.