I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.

How the unforgettable faces of dusk would blend to her, the myriad footsteps, a thousand overtures, would blend to her footsteps; and there would be more drunkenness than wine in the softness of her eyes on his.

And after reading Thoreau I felt how much I have lost by leaving nature out of my life.

Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.

One thin's sure and nothing's surer The rich get richer and the poor get - children. In the meantime, In between time...

From the ruins, lonely and inexplicable as the sphinx, rose the Empire State Building.

For awhile after you quit Keats all other poetry seems to be only whistling or humming.