Because I helped to wind the clock, I come to hear it strike.

When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.

We had fed the heart on fantasies, The heart's grown brutal from the fare, More substance in our enmities Than in our love

I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember

I believe... that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.

People are responsible for their opinions, but Providence is responsible for their morals.

Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.