A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of Time.
Mind is a light which the Gods mock us with, To lead those false who trust it.
Once read thy own breast right, And thou hast done with fears.
Man errs not that he deems His welfare his true aim, He errs because he dreams The world does but exist that welfare to bestow.
Genius is mainly an affair of energy, and poetry is mainly an affair of genius; therefore a nation whose spirit is characterized by energy may well be imminent in poetry – and we have Shakespeare.
Calm’s not life’s crown, though calm is well.
Most men in a brazen prison live, Where, in the sun’s hot eye, With heads bent o’er their toil, they languidly Their lives to some unmeaning taskwork give, Dreaming of nought beyond their prison-wall.
One has often wondered whether upon the whole earth there is anything so unintelligent, so unapt to perceive how the world is really going, as an ordinary young Englishman of our upper class.
Force and right are the governors of this world; force till right is ready.
Poetry; a criticism of life under the conditions fixed for such a criticism by the laws of poetic truth and poetic beauty.
Nature’s great law, and the law of all men’s minds? To its own impulse every creature stirs: Live by thy light, and Earth will live by hers.
Nature, with equal mind, Sees all her sons at play, Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away.
Waiting for the spark from heaven to fall.
We do not what we ought; What we ought not, we do; And lean upon the thought That chance will bring us through; But our own acts, for good or ill, are mightier powers.
The strongest part of a religion today is its unconscious poetry.
And see all sights from pole to pole, And glance, and nod, and hustle by; And never once possess our soul Before we die.
Sad Patience, too near neighbour to despair.
Was Christ a man like us?-Ah! let us try If we then, too, can be such men as he!
For science, God is simply the stream of tendency by which all things seek to fulfill the law of their being.
Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew! In quiet she reposes; Ah, would that I did too!