What the world's million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.

Evil comes to us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.

Words alone are certain good.

Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.

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.

If there's no hatred in a mind Assault and battery of the wind Can never tear the linnet from the leaf

Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.