We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it... - George Eliot

Sudden and near the trumpet's notes out-spread, And soon his eyes could see the metal flower, Shining upturned, out on the morning pour Its incense audible; could see a train From out the street slow-winding on the plain With lyres and cymbals, flutes and psalteries, While men, youths, maids, in concert sang to these With various throat, or in succession poured, Or in full volume mingled. But one word Ruled each recurrent rise and answering fall, As when the multitudes adoring call On some great name divine, their common soul, The common need, love, joy, that knits them in one whole. The word was "Jubal!"... "Jubal" filled the air, And seemed to ride aloft, a spirit there, Creator of the choir, the full-fraught strain That grateful rolled itself to him again. The aged man adust upon the bank — Whom no eye saw — at first with rapture drank The bliss of music, then, with swelling heart, Felt, this was his own being's greater part, The universal joy once born in him.

One must be poor to know the luxury of giving.

I am not magnanimous enough to like people who speak to me without seeming to see me.