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.

Irish poets, learn your trade, sing whatever is well made, scorn the sort now growing up all out of shape from toe to top.

Locke sank into a swoon; The Garden died; God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.

In life courtesy and self-possession, and in the arts style, are the sensible impressions of the free mind, for both arise out of a deliberate shaping of all things and from never being swept away, whatever the emotion into confusion or dullness.

O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.

We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.

The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.