Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.

The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

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

Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

There twice a day the Severn fills; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.

Love lieth deep; Love dwells not in lip-depths.