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He shall have chariots easier than air, That I will have invented; . . . And thyself, That art the messenger, shalt ride before him On a horse cut out of an entire diamond. That shall be made to go with golden wheels, I know not how yet.

Wonders I sing; the sun has set; no night has followed.

A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!

If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to himself . . . that a tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will find out he is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive.

The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder.

We were young, we were merry, we were very, very wise, And the door stood open at our feast, When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East.

"Never see . . . a dead post-boy, did you?" inquired Sam. . . . "No," rejoined Bob, "I never did." "No!" rejoined Sam triumphantly. "Nor never vill; and there's another thing that no man never see, and that's a dead donkey."

Long stood the noble youth oppress'd with awe, And stupid at the wondrous things he saw, Surpassing common faith, transgressing nature's law.

Men love to wonder and that is the seed of our science.

This wonder lasted nine daies.

The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of joys departed.

Wonder is very much the affection of a philosopher; for there is no other beginning of philosophy than this.

Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, of straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.

Out of our reach the gods have laid Of time to come th' event, And laugh to see the fools afraid Of what the knaves invent.

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping!

O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud Without our special wonder?

It will have blood, they say: blood will have blood. Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augures and understood relations have By maggot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?

She swore, i' faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.

There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.