Homer is my example and his unchristened heart.

The Land of Faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.

Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?

Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.

I have found nothing half so good / As my long-planned half solitude, / Where I can sit up half the night / With some friend that has the wit.

What made us dream that he could comb gray hair?

It seems that I must bid the Muse to pack, / Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend / Until imagination, ear and eye, / Can be content with argument and deal / In abstract things; or be derided by / A sort of battered kettle at the heel.