Samuel Butler

'Tis not antiquity, nor author,
That makes truth truth, altho' time's daughter.

'Tis not antiquity, nor author,
That makes truth truth, altho' time's daughter.

To live is to love; all reason is against it; instinct is for it.

To live is to love; all reason is against it; instinct is for it.

And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a read more

And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a poet excellent,
But only want and discontent.

Like feather-bed betwixt a wall
And heavy brunt of cannon ball.

Like feather-bed betwixt a wall
And heavy brunt of cannon ball.

He that complies against his will,
Is of his own opinion still,
Which he may adhere to, read more

He that complies against his will,
Is of his own opinion still,
Which he may adhere to, yet disown,
For reasons to himself best known.