Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

Each life unfulfilled, you see; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy.

There is nothing so unpardonable as to consent to a senseless, aimless, purposeless life.

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

What's come to perfection perishes. Things learned on earth we shall practice in heaven; Works done least rapidly Art most cherishes.

To do good things in the world, first you must know who you are and what gives meaning to your life.

Our aspirations are our responsibilities.