Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid

Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.

Our spirits grow gray before our hairs.

Go where glory waits thee! But while fame elates thee, Oh, still remember me!

I am in love with this green Earth.

I could never hate anyone I knew.

The human species, according to the best theory I can form of it, is composed of two distinct races, the men who borrow and the men who lend.