So . . . I feel in regard to this aged England . . . pressed upon by transitions of trade and . . . competing populations,-I see her not dispirited, not weak, but well remembering that she has seen dark days before;-indeed, with a kind of instinct that she sees a little better in a cloudy day, and that, in storm of battle and calamity, she has a secret vigor and a pulse like a cannon.

I DO not count the hours I spend In wandering by the sea; The forest is my loyal friend, Like God it useth me.

I would study, I would know, I would admire forever.

Love is the essence of God.

Nothing can work damage to me except myself; the harm that I sustain I carry about with me and never am a real sufferer except by my own fault.

Everything runs to excess; every good quality is noxious if unmixed.

The way to write is to throw your body at the mark when your arrows are spent.