He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
The quiet sense of something lost
Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!
Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.