The troubles of our proud and angry dust are from eternity, and shall not fail. Bear them we can, and if we can we must. Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.

To be a textual critic requires aptitude for thinking and willingness to think; and though it also requires other things, those things are supplements and cannot be substitutes. Knowledge is good, method is good, but one thing beyond all others is necessary; and that is to have a head, not a pumpkin, on your shoulders and brains, not pudding, in your head.

Give me a land of boughs in leaf A land of trees that stand; Where trees are fallen there is grief; I love no leafless land.

Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose, But young men think it is, and we were young.

Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.