We Cannot Get Happiness By Striving After

Swinburne Was An Absurd Character. He Was A Bird Of Showy Strut And Plumage. One Could Not But Admire His Glorious Feathers; But, As Soon As He Began To Moult ... One Saw How Very Little Body There Was Underneath.

In Order To See Birds It Is Necessary To Become A Part Of The Silence.

Were I A Philosopher, I Should Write A Philosophy Of Toys, Showing That Nothing Else In Life Need To Be Taken Seriously, And That Christmas Day In The Company Of Children Is One Of The Few Occasions On Which Men Become Entirely Alive.

Keats, It Must Be Remembered, Was A Sensualist. His Poems ... Reveal Him As A Man Not Altogether Free From The Vulgarities Of Sensualism, As Well As One Who Was Able To Transmute It Into Perfect Literature.

The Last Spectacle Of Which Christian Men Are Likely To Grow Tired Is A Harbour. Centuries Hence There May Be Jumping-off Places For The Stars, And Our Children's Children's And So Forth Children May Regard A Ship As A Creeping Thing Scarcely More Adventurous Than A Worm. Meanwhile, Every Harbour Gives Us A Sense Of Being In Touch, If Not With The Ends Of The Universe, With The Ends Of The Earth.