Then the Parson might preach, & drink, & sing, And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring; And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church, Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

Nature has no outline. Imagination has.

The busy bee has no time for sorrow.

And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds and binding with briars my joys and desires. (from 'The Garden of Love')

The Man who pretends to be a modest enquirer into the truth of a self-evident thing is a Knave.

When I tell the truth, it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those that do.

The foundation of empire is art and science. Remove them or degrade them, and the empire is no more. Empire follows art and not vice versa as Englishmen suppose.