Come, my friends Tis not too late to seek a newer world Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die

Woman is the lesser man.

Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.

the shell must break before the bird can fly.

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

The thrall in person may be free in soul