I hold that when a person dies / His soul returns again to earth; / Arrayed in some new flesh disguise / Another mother gives him birth / With sturdier limbs and brighter brain.

Once in a century a man may be ruined or made insufferable by praise. But surely once in a minute something generous dies for want of it.

God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.

Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Men in a ship are always looking up, and men ashore are usually looking down.

I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.