She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.

I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.

The mighty hopes that make us men.

There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.

And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon.

The greater man the greater courtesy.