Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.

What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.

Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.

Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.

Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.