... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.

With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.

X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!” XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill’s side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing.

I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.

Failure is in a sense the highway to success, as each discovery of what is false leads us to seek earnestly after what is true.

Load every rift with ore.