Alas, by what rude fate Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet, Then part forever on their courses fleet.

The poet who does not revere his art, and believe in its sovereignty, is not born to wear the purple.

The critic's first labor is the task of distinguishing between men, as history and their works display them, and the ideals which one and another have conspired to urge upon his acceptance.

Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, The hue of May. Warbler, why speed, thy southern flight? ah, why, Thou, too, whose song first told us of the Spring? Whither away?

Look on this cast, and know the hand That bore a nation in its hold; From this mute witness understand What Lincoln was - how large of mould.

Yes, there's a luck in most things; and in none more than being born at the right time.

Fashion is a potency in art, making it hard to judge between the temporary and the lasting.