All the best sands of my life are somehow getting into the wrong end of the hourglass. If I could only reverse it! Were it in my power to do sowould I?

What probing deep Has ever solved the mystery of sleep?

Civilization is the lamb's skin in which barbarism masquerades.

But I, in the chilling twilight stand and wait At the portcullis, at thy castle gate, Longing to see the charmed door of dreams Turn on its noiseless hinges, delicate sleep!

The possession of gold has ruined fewer men than the lack of it.

The man who suspects his own tediousness is yet to be born.

What is lovely never dies, but passes into other loveliness, Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.