Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal; a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.
Talent perceives differences; genius, unity.
Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.
The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all like an opera.
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?