If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens.
What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.
Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain
Praise is deeper than the lips
Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.