And I have written three books on the soul, Proving absurd all written hitherto, And putting us to ignorance again.

What? Was man made a wheel-work to wind up, And be discharged, and straight wound up anew? No! grown, his growth lasts; taught, he ne'er forgets: May learn a thousand things, not twice the same.

There are three ways of learning golf: by study, which is the most wearisome; by imitation, which is the most fallacious; and by experience, which is the most bitter.

Such ever was love's way: to rise, it stoops.

Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe, all were for me, in the kiss of one girl.

All service ranks the same with God,- With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we: there is no last nor first.

Faultless to a fault.