What lovely things Thy hand hath made.

All but blind In his chambered hole Gropes for worms The four-clawed Mole.

All day long the door of the sub-conscious remains just ajar; we slip through to the other side, and return again, as easily and secretly as a cat.

A harvest mouse goes scampering by, With silver claws and silver eye; And moveless fish in the water gleam, By silver reeds in a silver stream.

After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts - like a Chinese nest of boxes - oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front - in our ancestors, back and back until.

Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels.

What a haunting, inescapable riddle life was.

And some win peace who spend The skill of words to sweeten despair Of finding consolation where Life has but one dark end.

A lost but happy dream may shed its light upon our waking hours, and the whole day may be infected with the gloom of a dreary or sorrowful one; yet of neither may we be able to recover a trace.

An hour's terror is better than a lifetime of timidity.

For beauty with sorrow Is a burden hard to be borne: The evening light on the foam, and the swans, there; That music, remote, forlorn.

It is indeed strange, given the heavy emphasis placed by chroniclers on Churchill's sheer magnitude of personality, that the ingredient of pure ambition should be so much ignored or even disallowed.

It's okay to fail 'cause there's no failure, you're just informing the richness of your experience, and that's - that's the greatest gift you can possibly give yourself.

One can be instructed in society, one is inspired only in solitude.

There was one moment when J. Edgar Hoover and us had the same distorted lens about who we were - "a real threat," you know? He thought so and we thought so and we were buddies in that regard.

A philosopher may deplore the eternal discords of the human race, but he will confess, that the desire of spoil is a more rational provocation than the vanity of conquest.

No one thinks Las Vegas is real; it is illusion, but visitors willingly suspend disbelief and pretend.

Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

My great-grandfather, Karl Wallenda, was my biggest hero in life, my biggest inspiration behind everything I do.

Labor is still, and ever will be, the inevitable price set upon everything which is valuable.

I take what people feel and think, especially when it's different from, very seriously, and I find it liberating.