We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.
Stop and consider! life is but a day
The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.
Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
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.