Robert Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Earl of Lytton

We are our own fates. Our deeds
Are our doomsmen. Man's life was made not for men's creeds,
But men's actions.

Thought alone is eternal.

Life hath set
No landmarks before us.

Rest is sweet after strife.

You know
There are moments when silence, prolong'd and unbroken,
More expressive may be than all words ever spoken.

Whene'er I hear French spoken as I approve,
I feel myself quietly falling in love.

'Tis more brave
To live, than to die.

In life there are meetings which seem
Like a fate.

Since we parted, yester eve,
I do love thee, love, believe,
Twelve times dearer, twelve hours longer,
One dream deeper, one night stronger,
One sun surer,—thus much more
Than I loved thee, love, before.

We are what we must,
And not what we would be. I know that one hour
Forestalls not another. The will and the power
Are diverse.

Those true eyes
Too pure and too honest in aught to disguise
The sweet soul shining through them.

We are but as the instrument of heaven.
Our work is not design, but destiny.

As pure as a pearl,
And as perfect: a noble and innocent girl.

For only by knowledge of that which is not
Thyself shall thyself be learn'd.

Oh, moment of sweet peril, perilous sweet!
When woman joins herself to man.