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.

We only believe in those thoughts which have been conceived not in the brain but in the whole body.

The falcon cannot hear the falconer

Cast your mind on other days that we in coming days may be still the indomitable Irishry.

How can the arts overcome the slow dying of men's hearts that we call progress ?

And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public men, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds.