Outside are the storms and strangers: we — Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, — I and she!

But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.

Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her Calais): "Open my heart, and you will see Graved inside of it 'Italy.'"

The best way to excape his ire Is, not to seem too happy.

It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad.

The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.

Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?