The sun pours out like wine.

For poetry, more than any other art, except music, has a compelling hold upon the spiritual side of life.

I wonder at the idleness of tears.

To hear that your neighbor was worse off than yourself was not an altogether unpleasant experience.

Thrice blessed are they whose early years are spent in some countryside. The flowering and withering of the seasons, and every exquisite sound and sight - every lane, and pasture, and green corners and gnarled hollows everywhere, make them affluent with a treasure which neither change nor chance can steal away.

The old faiths light their candles all about, but burly Truth comes by and puts them out.

The sun pours out like wine.