I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books.

Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary.

Make not thyself the judge of any man.

Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close.

Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm.

Don't cross the bridge til you come to it.