Books are men of higher stature, and the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear.
Foolishness and criticism are so apt, do so naturally go together!
I love you for the part of me that you bring out.
You're something between a dream and a miracle.
XI I sang his name instead of song; Over and over I sang his name: Backward and forward I sang it along, With my sweetest notes, it was still the same! I sang it low, that the slave-girls near Might never guess, from what they could hear, That all the song was a name.
A great man leaves clean work behind him, and requires no sweeper up of the chips.