“Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.”

Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.

What the sunshine is to the flower, the Lord Jesus Christ is to my soul.

And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.

I can’t be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.

Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

A still small voice spake unto me, ‘Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.

Things seen are mightier than things heard.

O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

Love will conquer at the last.

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.

I’d rather be dead than singing “Satisfaction” when I’m forty-five.

What was dead will come to life when you pursue love.

A Man Without Honor is Worse than Dead.

I’m the one that’s got to die when it’s time for me to die, so let me live my life the way I want to.

What father ever gave up his son to death for the sake of his slave!

Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die.

Since death is certain and the time of death is uncertain, what is the most important thing?

Truth always ends by victory; it is not unassailable, but invincible.