To stay youthful, stay useful.

Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.

I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.

That which is creative must create itself.

To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty

Already with thee! tender is the night. . . But here there is no light. . .

Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.