Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.
Not a man alive has so much luck that he can play with it.
God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.
If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
Cuchulain stirred, Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard The cars of battle and his own name cried; And fought with the invulnerable tide.
The pain others give passes away in their later kindness, but that of our own blunders, especially when they hurt our vanity, never passes away