“Love is my religion – I could die for it.”

The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.

Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it.

My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.

Philosophy will clip an angel’s wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine – Unweave a rainbow.

If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.

The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.

The open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown – the Air is our robe of state – the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.

I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!

To stay youthful, stay useful.

I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.

You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.

Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.

My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.

Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks Our ready minds to fellowship divine, A fellowship with essence; till we shine, Full alchemiz’d, and free of space. Behold The clear religion of heaven!

Life’s too short to live without purpose, to lose our chance to serve, to let our dreams and aspirations die with us.

A friendship built on business can be glorious, while a business built on friendship can be murder.

The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying.

Make a list of twenty-five things you want to experience before you die. Carry it in your wallet or purse and refer to it often.

Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.

An epic era has drawn curtains, never to happen again.

You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour.

Love’s very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.