Odor of blood when Christ was slain Made all Platonic tolerance vain And vain all Doric discipline.

I always think a great speaker convinces us not by force of reasoning, but because he is visibly enjoying the beliefs he wants us to accept.

Not a man alive has so much luck that he can play with it.

It seems that I must bid the Muse to pack, / Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend / Until imagination, ear and eye, / Can be content with argument and deal / In abstract things; or be derided by / A sort of battered kettle at the heel.

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

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.

The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.