People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.

In dreams begins responsibility.

I Sing what was lost and dread what was won, / I walk in a battle fought over again.

That toil of growing up; The ignominy of boyhood; the distress Of boyhood changing into man; The unfinished man and his pain.

A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.

An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing for every tatter in its mortal dress.