The delight that consumes the desire, The desire that outruns the delight.

Hope knows not if fear speaks truth, nor fear whether hope be blind as she.

On the mountains of memory by the world's wellsprings, in all man's eyes, where the light of life of him is on all past things, death only dies.

There was a poor poet named Clough, Whom his friends all united to puff, But the public, though dull, Had not such a skull As belonged to believers in Clough.

Let weakness learn meekness.

The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog; not though in that stage of development he should puff and blow himself till he bursts with windy adulation at the heels of the laureled ox.

Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which.