When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.

I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.

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

Our words must seem to be inevitable.

Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by

Is it not certain that the Creator yawns in earthquake and thunder and other popular displays, but toils in rounding the delicate spiral of a shell? -Yeats, The Trembling of the Veil

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they bear. The changing colours of its fruit Have dowered the stars with metry light; The surety of its hidden root Has planted quiet in the night; The shaking of its leafy head Has given the waves their melody, And made my lips and music wed, Murmuring a wizard song for thee.