Life is a journey up a spiral staircase; as we grow older we cover the ground covered we have covered before, only higher up; as we look down the winding stair below us we measure our progress by the number of places where we were but no longer are. The journey is both repetitious and progressive; we go both round and upward.

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 am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch.

People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.

Some burn damp faggots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room.

The fascination of what's difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart.