Go ye, who rest so placidly upon the sacred Bard who had been young, and when he strung his harp was old, and had never seen the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging their bread; go, Teachers of content and honest pride, into the mine, the mill, the forge, the squalid depths of deepest ignorance, and uttermost abyss of man's neglect, and say can any hopeful plant spring up in air so foul that it extinguishes the soul's bright torch as fast as it is kindled!

My dear if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my muddle of a head I should better understand your affairs.

Listlessness to everything, but brooding sorrow, was the night that fell on my undisciplined heart. Let me look up from it - as at last I did, thank Heaven! - and from its long, sad, wretched dream, to dawn.

This is a world of action, and not moping and droning in.

New thoughts and hopes were whirling through my mind, and all the colours of my life were changing.

Nothing of what is nobly done is ever lost.

Poetry makes life what lights and music do the stage.