How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.

Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by

No man has ever lived that had enough of children's gratitude or woman's love.

I have read somewhere that in the Emperor's palace at Byzantium was a tree made of gold and silver, and artificial birds that sang.

I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all like an opera.

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

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