For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.

Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long

if you don't concentrate on what you are doing then the thing that you are doing is not what you are thinking.

A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.

And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!