Oh, sir, the loftiest hopes on earth Draw lots with meaner hopes: heroic breasts, Breathing bad air, run risk of pestilence; Or, lacking lime-juice when they cross the Line, May languish with the scurvy.
Deeds are the pulse of Time, his beating life, And righteous or unrighteous, being done, Must throb in after-throbs till Time itself Be laid in stillness, and the universe Quiver and breathe upon no mirror more.
Religion can only change when the emotions which fill it are changed; and the religion of personal fear remains nearly at the level of the savage.
Your trouble’s easy borne when everybody gives it a lift for you.
When we are dead : it is the living only who cannot be forgiven the living only from whom men’s indulgence and reverence are held off, like the rain by the hard east wind .
A man’s a man. But when you see a king, you see the work of many thousand men.
Knightly love is blent with reverence As heavenly air is blent with heavenly blue.
Inclination snatches arguments To make indulgence seem judicious choice.
Perhaps the wind Wails so in winter for the summers dead, And all sad sounds are nature’s funeral cries For what has been and is not.
A suppressed resolve will betray itself in the eyes.
When you see fair hair Be pitiful.
Tis a petty kind of fame At best, that comes of making violins; And saves no masses, either. Thou wilt go To purgatory none the less.
Every man who is not a monster, a mathematician, or a mad philosopher, is the slave of some woman or other.
The stars are golden fruit upon a tree all out of reach.
Who can prove Wit to be witty when with deeper ground Dulness intuitive declares wit dull?
Where you have friends you should not go to inns.
Grant folly’s prayers that hinder folly’s wish, And serve the ends of wisdom.
Speech is but broken light upon the depth Of the unspoken.
What if my words Were meant for deeds.
Our growing thought Makes growing revelation.