"For each man kills the thing he loves/Yet each man does not die."

For each man kills the thing he loves, 

Yet each man does not die.

He does not die a death of shame 

On a day of dark disgrace, 

Nor have a noose about his neck, 

Nor a cloth upon his face, 

Nor drop feet foremost through the floor 

Into an empty space.

- from The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde

I don't know if I kill the thing I love, but sometimes I'm just unable to deliver...I get scared.

You really have to think about these things.

Maybe I'm doing it, but don't know?

And what does one do if one is killing the thing one loves?

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.