Against Knowledge I have, as the light cynic observed of a certain lady's past, only one serious objection - that there is so much of it.

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• Bryan Procter:

  Death is the tyrant of the imagination.

• Bryan Procter:

  Half the ills we heard within our hearts are ills because we hoard them.

• Bryan Procter:

  O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!

• Bryan Procter:

  There's not a wind but whispers of thy name; And not a flow'r that grows beneath the moon, But in i

• Bryan Procter:

  Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream, Gently, - as we sometimes glide Through a qui

• Bryan Procter:

  Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.

• Bryan Procter:

  Pity speaks to grief More sweetly than a band of instruments.

• Bryan Procter:

  All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.

• Bryan Procter:

  The sweetest noise on earth, a woman's tongue; A string which hath no discord.

• Bryan Procter:

  So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!