There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion. - Lord Byron

There is an order
Of mortals on the earth, who do become
Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,
Without the violence of warlike death;
Some perishing of pleasure, some of study,
Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness,
Some of disease, and some insanity,
And some of wither’d or of broken hearts;
For this last is a malady which slays
More than are number’d in the lists of Fate,
Taking all shapes and bearing many names.

I could not tame my nature down; for he
Must serve who fain would sway — and soothe — and sue — And watch all time — and pry into all place — And be a living lie — who would become
A mighty thing amongst the mean, and such
The mass are; I disdained to mingle with
A herd, though to be leader — and of wolves.
The lion is alone, and so am I.

There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears;
The earth is but the music of the spheres.