No man is good enough to be another's master.

What is an artist but a workman who is determined that, whatever else happens, his work shall be excellent?

To happy folkAll heaviest words no more of meaning bearThan far-off bells saddening the Summer air.

The reward of labour is life. Is that not enough?

History has remembered the kings and warriors, because they destroyed; art has remembered the people, because they created.

By God! I will not tell you more to-day, Judge any way you will - what matters it?

Whiles in the early Winter eve We pass amid the gathering night Some homestead that we had to leave Years past; and see its candles bright Shine in the room beside the door Where we were merry years agone But now must never enter more, As still the dark road drives us on. E'en so the world of men may turn At even of some hurried day And see the ancient glimmer burn Across the waste that hath no way; Then with that faint light in its eyes A while I bid it linger near And nurse in wavering memories The bitter-sweet of days that were.