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An aspiration is a joy for ever, a possession as solid as a landed estate.
And my heart springs anew,
Bright and confident and true,
And the old love comes to meet me, in the dawning and the dew.
- a poem [Love]
Away with funeral music--set
The pipe to powerful lips--
The cup of life's for him that drinks
And not for him that sips.
- at Boulogne [Life]
Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant.
Every one lives by selling something, whatever be his right to it.
Everybody, soon or late, sits down to a banquet of consequences.
Everyone who got where he is had to begin where he was.
For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.
Give me the young man who has brains enough to make a fool of himself.
Give us courage and gaiety and the quient mind . . .
I regard you with an indifference bordering on aversion.
I who all the Winter through,
Cherished other loves than you
And kept hands with hoary policy in marriage-bed and pew;
Now I know the false and true,
For the earnest sun looks through,
And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew.
- a poem [Love]
I, whom Apollo sometime visited,
Or feigned to visit, now, my day being done,
Do slumber wholly, nor shall know at all
The weariness of changes; nor perceive
Immeasurable sands of centuries
Drink up the blanching ink, or the loud sound
Of generations beat the music down.
- epitaph for himself [Epitaphs]
If you wish the pick of men and women, take a good bachelor and a good wife.
Keep your fears to yourself, but share your courage with others.
Let any man speak long enough, he will get believers.
Make the most of the best and the least of the worst.
Man is a creature who lives not upon bread alone, but principally by catchwords.
Many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese--toasted, mostly.
Marriage is like life in this--that it is a field of battle, and not a bed of roses.
Now when the number of my years
Is all fulfilled and I
From sedentary life
Shall rouse me up to die,
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me die.
- a poem [Epitaphs]
Old and young, we are all on our last cruise.
Perpetual devotion to what a man calls his business, is only to be sustained by perpetual neglect of many other things.
Politics is perhaps the only profession for which no preparation is thought necessary.
Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm.
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