That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.
If a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
Experience has taught me, when I am shaving of a morning, to keep watch over my thoughts, because, if a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
Malt does more than Milton can to justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.
Who made the world I cannot tell; ‘Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.
Nature, not content with denying him the ability to think, has endowed him with the ability to write.
I find Cambridge an asylum, in every sense of the word.
Great literature should do some good to the reader: must quicken his perception though dull, and sharpen his discrimination though blunt, and mellow the rawness of his personal opinions.
The laws of God, the laws of man he may keep that will and can; not I: let God and man decree laws for themselves and not for me.