The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.

O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

Homer is my example and his unchristened heart.

Things thought too long can be no longer thought, For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth, And ancient lineaments are blotted out.

Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.

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

Our words must seem to be inevitable.