You that would judge me, do not judge alone this book or that, come to this hallowed place where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon; Ireland's history in their lineaments trace; think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was I had such friends.

My temptation is quiet. Here at life's end Neither loose imagination Nor the mill of the mind Consuming its rag and bone, Can make the truth known.

Mock mockers after that That would not lift a hand maybe To help good, wise or great To bar that foul storm out, for we Traffic in mockery.

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

The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

I have grown to believe that there is no dangerous idea, which does not become less dangerous when written out in sincere and careful English.

My wretched dragon is perplexed.