The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.
Alfred Lord TennysonHe will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
Alfred Lord TennysonAre God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life; ... 'So careful of the type', but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, 'A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go' ... Man, her last work, who seemed so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies, Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law- Tho' Nature red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.
Alfred Lord Tennyson