Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
by each let this be heard,
some do it with a bitter look,
some with a flattering word,
the coward does it with a kiss,
the brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
and some when they are old;
some strangle with the hands of Lust,
some with the hands of Gold:
the kindest use a knife, because
the dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
some sell, and others buy;
some do the deed with many tears,
and some without a sigh:
for each man kills the thing he loves,
yet each man does not die.
Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol