Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.

Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.

What rights are those that dare not resist for them?

Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.