“Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.”

I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

Trust me not at all, or all in all.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.

I can’t sleep without knowing there’s hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips… the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.

I am a part of all that I have met.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.

Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.

The quiet sense of something lost.

God’s finger touched him, and he slept.

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.

I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.

The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you. I could walk through my garden forever.

My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.

Men trust their ears less than their eyes.

I have eyes like a bullfrog, a neck like an ostrich and long, limp hair. You just have to be good to survive with that equipment.

There is no single face in nature, because every eye that looks upon it, sees it from its own angle. So every man’s spice-box seasons his own food.

I am part of the sun as my eye is of me. That I am part of the earth my feet know perfectly, and my blood is part of the sea.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

It is only when I dally with what I am about, look back and aside, instead of keeping my eyes straight forward, that I feel these cold sinkings of the heart.

And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.

There is creation in the eye.