“A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard. Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.”

May books and nature be their early joy!

One daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.

The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.

How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

And we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!

A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer’s joy.

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

The education of circumstances is superior to that of intuition.

The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.

There is a comfort in the strength of love; ‘Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.

Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.

Courage, ne’er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe!

Wars spring from unseen and generally insignificant causes, the first outbreak being often but an explosion of anger.

I’ll always leave the same set of strings on my guitars when I’m recording. If I break one I’ll just replace it instead of putting on a whole new set of strings.

Jackson plays a broken guitar because he’s in love with it, and doesn’t want to fix it, I think. It’s so broken.

If only the journey back could bring me to you.

All I have are the memories and all they do is haunt me.

I hope this pain never eases and these wounds never heal. That’s how you keep lingering in scars, underneath my skin.

The partition separating life from death is so tenuous. The unbelievable fragility of our organism suggests a vision on a screen: a kind of mist condenses itself into a human shape, lasts a moment and scatters.