While the light remains,' said Carde, speaking slowly in his high deliberate voice, 'only do not forsake the joy of life. If you shall have given all your kisses, you will give too few. And as leaves fall from withered wreaths which you may see spread upon the cups and floating there, so for us, who now as lovers hope for so much, perhaps tomorrow's day will close the doom.

That art gives charm to terrible things is perhaps its glory, perhaps its curse. Art is a doom.

How can we not be dooms to each other?

I know people can be awful dooms for each other.

I did love her in a way, but it was under the sign of doom.