Money gives me pleasure all the time.

I'm tired of love; I'm still more tired of rhyme; but money gives me pleasure all the time.

I'm tired of love, I'm still more tired of rhyme, but money gives me pleasure all the time.

Child! Do not throw this book about; refrain from the unholy pleasure of cutting all the pictures out.

Oh, my friends, be warned by me, That breakfast, dinner, lunch and tea, Are all human frame requires.

All that can best be expressed in words should be expressed in verse, but verse is a slow thing to create; nay, it is not really created: it is a secretion of the mind, it is a pearl that gathers round some irritant and slowly expresses the very essence of beauty and of desire that has lain long, potential and unexpressed, in the mind of the man who secretes it. God knows that this Unknown Country has been hit off in verse a hundred times...

Milton does it so well in the Fourth Book of Paradise Lost that I defy any man of a sane understanding to read the whole of that book before going to bed and not to wake up next morning as though he had been on a journey.