Full many a glorious morn I have seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.
Good words are better than bad strokes.
Let the galled jade wince; our withers are unwrung.
Beauty within itself should not be wasted.
You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
No profit grows where no pleasure is taken.