Soldier, scholar, horseman, he, As 'twere all life's epitome. What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?
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From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye....
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Education is not filling a bucket, but lighting a fire.
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Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle.
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Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
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All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions
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Endure what life God gives and ask no longer span; Cease to remember the delights of youth, travel-wearied aged man;...
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I believe in the practice and philosophy of what we have agreed to call magic, and what I must call the evocation of spirits, though I do not know what they are, in the power of creating magic illusions in the visions of truth in the depths of the minds when the eyes are closed.
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Ecstasy is from the contemplation of things vaster than the individual and imperfectly seen perhaps, by all those that still live.
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How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics?
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Yet they that know all things but know That all this life can give us is A child's laughter, a woman's kiss.
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Half close your eyelids, loosen your hair,And dream about the great and their pride;They have spoken against you everywhere,But weigh this song with the great and their pride;I made it out of a mouthful of air,Their children's children shall say they have lied.
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Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
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A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
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Caught in that sensual music all neglect monuments of unaging intellect
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Surely among a rich man's flowering lawns, Amid the rustle of his planted hills,...
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Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken, Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent...
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I have known more men destroyed by the desire to have wife and child and to keep them in comfort than I have seen destroyed by drink and harlots.
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I am content to live it all again, And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch.
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And say my glory was I had such friends.
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But all is changed, that high horse riderless, Though mounted in that saddle Homer rode...
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For wisdom is the property of the dead, A something incompatible with life; and power,...
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The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
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The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away
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yet it seems Life scarce can cast a fragrance on the wind,...
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Evil comes to all us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.
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A living man is blind and drinks his drop. What matter if the ditches are impure? What matter if I live it all once more?
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Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary. You may argue against it but you should no more treat it with disrespect than a perfectly cultivated writer would treat (say) the Catholic Church or the Church of Luther no matter how much he disliked them.
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All shuffle there; all cough in ink;All wear the carpet with their shoes;All think what other people think;All know the man their neighbour knows,Lord, what would they sayDid their Catullus walk that way?
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For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
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