Truth takes no account of centuries.

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Thought and theory must precede all action, that moves to salutary purposes. Yet action is nobler in itself than either thought or theory.

Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.