O son, thou hast not true humility, The highest virtue, mother of them all; But her thou hast not know; for what is this? Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself.

If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.

How fares it with the happy dead?

Oh for someone with a heart, head and hand. Whatever they call them, what do I care, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat, just be it one that can rule and dare not lie.

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

Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.