“No star is ever lost we once have seen, We always may be what we might have been.”

Words are mighty, words are living:Serpents with their venomous stings,Or bright angels, crowding round us

Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies

I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.

Dreams grow holy put in action.

Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife

Do not strive to grasp them all.

On her charm’d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.

Did we not hear The flutter of its wings, and feel it near, And just within our reach? It was.

Do no cheat thy Heart and tell her, ‘Grief will pass away.’

Lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.

One of these lives is a fancy, But the other one is true.

Take them readily when given, Ready, too, to let them go.

Every word man’s lips have uttered Echoes in God’s skies.

No star is lost once we have seen

One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going

Do not look at life’s long sorrow; see how small each moment’s pain.

No honey for me, if it comes with a bee.

I don’t think I have nerves of steel, far from it, but I can certainly stand up to things. I am not afraid to look suffering straight in the eyes.

The days that are still to come are the wisest witnesses.

There’s a bit of testicle at the bottom of our most sublime feelings and our purest tenderness.

Once in a while it vanishes – in the sense that I become deaf to beauty for a week or two or three.

The whole planet is waiting for someone to do it first.

Time. There is much time left and lots of life seasons. There is much to see, to do, and to be.

I am disappointed with myself. I am disappointed not so much with the particular things I have done as with the aspects of who I have become. I have a nagging sense that all is not as it should be.