I have been an "Official" all my life, without the least turn for it. I never could attain a true official manner, which is highly artificial and handles trifles with ludicrously disproportionate gravity.

Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!

Fairies, arouse! Mix with your song Harplet and pipe, Thrilling and clear, Swarm on the boughs! Chant in a throng! Morning is ripe, Waiting to hear.

If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one: I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me.

I always get back to the question, is it really necessary that men should consume so much of their bodily and mental energies in the machinery of civilized life? The world seems to me to do much of its toil for that which is not in any sense bread. Again, does not the latent feeling that much of their striving is to no purpose tend to infuse large quantities of sham into men's work?

Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day.

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.