All our souls are written in our eyes.
To offend is my pleasure; I love to be hated.
All my laurels you have riven away, and my roses; yet in spite of you, there is one crown I bear away with me... One thing without stain, unspotted from the world, in spite of doom mine own! And that is... my white plume.
Take it, and turn to facts my fantasies.
A man does not fight to win; it is better to fight in vain.
Stay awhile! 'Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing!