“My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.”

A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.

But He is risen, a later star of dawn.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.

My heart leaps up when I behold

Let Nature be your teacher.

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

By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.

A tale in everything.

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

O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!

There is creation in the eye.

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.

Rest and be thankful.

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.

You could get the money, you can get the power, but keep your eyes on the final hour.

The naked woman’s body is a portion of eternity too great for the eye of man.

The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man.

They seemed to be staring at the dark, but their eyes were watching God.

We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.

That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.

Keep your eye on the task, not on yourself. The task matters, and you are a servant.

And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner’s eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.