It was my first meeting with a philosophy that confirmed my vague speculations and seemed at once logical and boundless.

When such as I cast out remorse; So great a sweetness flows into the breast; We must laugh and we must sing, We are blest by everything, Everything we look upon is blessed.

An Irish Airman foresees his Death I Know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate Those that I guard I do not love, My country is Kiltartan Cross, My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public man, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death.

Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.

No man has ever lived that had enough of children's gratitude or woman's love.

Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.

A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught.