The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.

Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

All the little emptiness of love!

A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long; if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.

There are only three things in the world, one is to read poetry, another is to write poetry, and the best of all is to live poetry.

But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, is wetter water, slimier slime! And there (they trust) there swimmeth one who swam ere rivers were begun, immense of fishy form and mind, squamous omnipotent, and kind.