"But fair the exil'd Palm-tree grew Midst foliage of no kindred hue; Through the laburnum’s dropping gold Rose the light shaft of Orient mould, And Europe’s violets, faintly sweet, Purpled the mossbeds at its feet."

"One hour of right-down love is worth an age of dully living on."

"She was employed by Charles II, in 1666, in a political negotiation at Antwerp, which she managed with much dexterity; but her intelligence (though well-founded) being disregarded, she renounced all state affairs, and amused herself some time with the gallantries of Antwerp; and, when she arrived at London, dedicated the rest of her life to pleasure and poetry."

"Each moment of the happy lover's hour is worth an age of dull and common life."

"…that perfect Tranquillity of Life, which is no where to be found, but in retreat, a faithful Friend and a good Library…"

"Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason, and consuming our health, than secret notions of jealousy in solitude."

"He that knew all that ever Learning writ, Knew only this - that he knew nothing yet."

"Oh what a dear ravishing thing is the beginning of an Amour!"

"Love ceases to be a pleasure when it ceases to be a secret."

"Faith, sir, we are here today, and gone tomorrow."

"A brave world, sir, full of religion, knavery, and change: we shall shortly see better days."

"Money speaks sense in a language all nations understand."

"Come away; poverty's catching."

"Variety is the soul of pleasure."

"Patience is a flatterer, sir, and an ass, sir."

"There's no sinner like a young saint."

"No friend to Love like a long voyage at sea."

"Brussels is a gay little city that lies as bright within its girdle of woodland as any butterfly that rests upon moss."

"When one has not father, or mother, or brother, and all one's friends have barely bread enough for themselves, life cannot be very easy, nor its crusts very many at any time."

"What use was it to argue with a little idiot like this? Indeed, peasants never do argue; they use abuse."

"It is the trifles of life that are its bores, after all. Most men can meet ruin calmly, for instance, or laugh when they lie in a ditch with their own knee-joint and their hunter's spine broken over the double post and rails: it is the mud that has choked up your horn just when you wanted to rally the pack; it's the whip who carries you off to a division just when you've sat down to your turbot; it's the ten seconds by which you miss the train; it's the dust that gets in your eyes as you go down to Epsom; it's the pretty little rose note that went by accident to your house instead of your club, and raised a storm from madame; it's the dog that always will run wild into the birds; it's the cook who always will season the white soup wrong—it is these that are the bores of life, and that try the temper of your philosophy."

"Take hope from the heart of man and you make him a beast of prey."

"Even of death Christianity has made a terror which was unknown to the gay calmness of the Pagan and the stoical repose of the Indian."

"For many women, becoming a widow does not just mean the heartache of losing a husband, but often losing everything else as well. In too many countries, a woman who is widowed becomes in effect a non-person. Through no fault of her own, she can suffer social discrimination, stigma and even violence, sometimes, as in parts of sub-Saharan Africa, being forced to “cleanse” herself by having sexual intercourse with a relative or stranger."

"My immediate instinct when faced with the questions from The Mail on Sunday ten days ago was to protect my family's privacy and particularly my son in his first term at university, living away from home."

"It is not fair to Tony or to the Government that the entire focus of political debate at the moment is about me. I know I'm in a very special position, I'm the wife of the Prime Minister, I have an interesting job and a wonderful family, but I also know I am not Superwoman. The reality of my daily life is that I'm juggling a lot of balls in the air. Some of you must experience that."

"As long as young people feel they have got no hope but to blow themselves up you are never going to make progress."

"People are usually made Dames for virtues I do not possess."

"I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it."

"There are people, also, who cannot believe that beauty and gaiety are a part of goodness. When we think of cruelty, we must try to remember the stupidity, the envy, the frustration from which it has arisen."

"I'm not the man to baulk at a low smell, I’m not the man to insist on asphodel. This sounds like a He-fellow, don’t you think? It sounds like that. I belch, I bawl, I drink."

"Vulgarity is, in reality, nothing but a modern, chic, pert descendant of the goddess Dullness."

"Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because genius and aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd."

"The public will believe anything, so long as it is not founded on truth."

"The living blind and seeing Dead together lie As if in love . . . There was no more hating then, And no more love; Gone is the heart of Man."

"Our hearts seemed safe in our breasts and sang to the Light — The marrow in the bone We dreamed was safe. . . the blood in the veins, the sap in the tree Were springs of Deity."

"Mother or Murderer, you have given or taken life — Now all is one!"

"Remember only this of our hopeless love That never till Time is done Will the fire of the heart and the fire of the mind be one."

"The flames of the heart consumed me, and the mind Is but a foolish wind."

"The great gold planet that is the mourning heat of the Sun Is greater than all gold, more powerful Than the tawny body of a Lion that fire consumes Like all that grows or leaps... so is the heart More powerful than all dust."

"See, see where Christ's blood streames in the firmament: It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree Deep to the dying, to the thirsting heart That holds the fires of the world, — dark-smirched with pain As Caesar's laurel crown. Then sounds the voice of One who like the heart of man Was once a child who among beasts has lain — "Still do I love, still shed my innocent light, my Blood, for thee.""

"Still falls the Rain — Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man's wounded Side: He bears in His Heart all wounds, — those of the light that died, The last faint spark In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehending dark..."

"Still falls the Rain At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross. Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us —"

"Still falls the Rain — Dark as the world of man, black as our loss — Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails Upon the Cross."

"Oh how the Vacancy Laughed at them rushing by. "Turn again, flesh and brain, Only yourselves again! How far above the ape Differing in each shape, You with your regular Meaningless circles are!""

"White as a winding sheet, Masks blowing down the street: Moscow, Paris London, Vienna — all are undone. The drums of death are mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, Mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, The world's floors are quaking, crumbling and breaking."

"Within your magic web of hair, lies furled The fire and splendour of the ancient world; The dire gold of the comet's wind-blown hair; The songs that turned to gold the evening air When all the stars of heaven sang for joy."

"The busy chatter of the heat Shrilled like a parakeet; And shuddering at the noonday light The dust lay dead and whiteAs powder on a mummy's face, Or fawned with simian grace Round booths with many a hard bright toy And wooden brittle joy:The cap and bells of Time the Clown That, jangling, whistled down Young cherubs hidden in the guise Of every bird that flies;And star-bright masks for youth to wear, Lest any dream that fare — Bright pilgrim — past our ken, should see Hints of Reality."

"Tall windows show Infinity; And, hard reality, The candles weep and pry and dance Like lives mocked at by Chance. The rooms are vast as Sleep within; When once I ventured in, Chill Silence, like a surging sea, Slowly enveloped me."

"Each of them is inhabited by a bland demon, as the German metaphysicians used to call that which gets into a man and makes him creative, not so forcibly that it turns them away from criticism, but valid enough to give them the right to speak with the authority of artists."