I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.
It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll; I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.
Men may scoff, and men may pray, But they pay Every pleasure with a pain.
Here is the ghost Of a summer that lived for us, Ere is a promise Of summer to be.
Were I so tall as to reach the pole or grasp the ocean at a span, I must be measured by my soul. The mind is the standard of the man.
Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame.
Life is worth Living Through every grain of it, From the foundations To the last edge Of the cornerstone, death.
Who but knows How it goes! Life’s a last year’s Nightingale, Love’s a last year’s rose.