The world and life's too big to pass for a dream

What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.

Sappho survives, because we sing her songs; And Eschylus, because we read his plays!

'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls.

Of power does Man possess no particle: Of knowledge-just so much as show that still It ends in ignorance on every side.

To me at least was never evening yet, but seemed far beautifuller than its day.

God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.