Heaven blazing into the head: Tragedy wrought to its uttermost. Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages And all the drop-scenes drop at once Upon a hundred thousand stages It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.

We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.

I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'

The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.

rhetoric is will doing the work of imagination.

Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.

Many times man lives and dies between his two eternities: that of race and that of Soul... A brief parting from those dear is the worst man has to fear... Though grave diggers' toil is long... They but thrust their buried men back in the human mind again.