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

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.

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

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.

The imagination never dies.

A poet must sing for his own people.

Men are egotists, and not all tolerant of one man's selfhood; they do not always deem the amities elective.