How can the arts overcome the slow dying of men's hearts that we call progress ?

My father was an angry and impatient teacher and flung the reading book at my head.

Swift has sailed into his rest; Savage indignation there Cannot lacerate his breast Imitate him if you dare, World-besotted traveler; he Served human liberty.

And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.

The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. . . . I have always considered myself a voice of what I believe to be a greater renaissance - the revolt of the soul against the intellect.

Myself I must remake.

It is most important that we should keep in this country a certain leisured class. I am of the opinion of the ancient Jewish book which says there is no wisdom without leisure.