An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing for every tatter in its mortal dress.
Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams.