I wish that life should not be cheap, but sacred. I wish the days to be as centuries, loaded, fragrant.

With most men, scarce a link of memory holds yesterday and to-day together.

Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,And marching single in an endless file,Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.

How carefully would I atone, if I might, for the time I have lost!

Brexit and Trump are a generational revenge. This may partly be against millennial certainty and superiority, and, indeed, ageism; and it may be a natural part of population dynamics - not only are more people getting far older than ever before, but they are older for longer than they are young.

Surely the glory of journalism is its transience.

Of Myself and of Death' (pp. 287—300).

For 'historical' means 'subject to time' (p. 242).

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.

A glimpse is not a vision. But to a man on a mountain road by night, a glimpse of the next three feet of road may matter more than a vision of the horizon.

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.