Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.

I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.

The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.

The mighty hopes that make us men.

There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

God's finger touched him, and he slept.

Virtue must shape itself in deed.