Everywhere in life, the true question is not what we gain, but what we do.

The outer passes away; the innermost is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Time is the silent, never-resting thing ... rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, like an all-embracing oceantide, on which we and all the universe swim.

To know, to get into the truth of anything, is ever a mystic art, of which the best logic's can but babble on the surface.

Happy season of virtuous youth, when shame is still an impassable barrier, and the sacred air-cities of hope have not shrunk into the mean clay hamlets of reality; and man, by his nature, is yet infinite and free.

Heroism is the divine relation which, in all times, unites a great man to other men.

He that works and does some Poem, not he that merely says one, is worthy of the name of Poet.