Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.
Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.
A field of glory is a field for all.
What will a child learn sooner than a song?
For critics, as they are birds of prey, have ever a natural inclination to carrion.
There is nothing that is meritorious but virtue and friendship.