Myself I must remake.

All that we did, all that we said or sang must come from contact with the soil.

It was my first meeting with a philosophy that confirmed my vague speculations and seemed at once logical and boundless.

Some burn damp faggots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public men, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds.

Odor of blood when Christ was slain Made all Platonic tolerance vain And vain all Doric discipline.

I always think a great speaker convinces us not by force of reasoning, but because he is visibly enjoying the beliefs he wants us to accept.