A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

Resist much, obey little.

O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena in perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his opponent.

The question, O me! so sad, recurring - What good amid these, O me, O life? That you are here - that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

In this broad earth of ours, Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, Enclosed and safe within its central heart, Nestles the seed of perfection.

Man is about the same, in the main, whether with despotism, or whether with freedom.

From this hour, freedom! Going where I like, my own master.