An ignorance of means may minister to greatness, but an ignorance of aims make it impossible to be great at all.

OF writing many books there is no end; And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine,- Will write my story for my better self, As when you paint your portrait for a friend, Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you, just To hold together what he was and is.

Our Euripides the human, With his droppings of warm tears, and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west.

What monster have we here? A great Deed at this hour of day? A great just deed - and not for pay? Absurd - or insincere?

A woman cannot do the thing she ought, which means whatever perfect thing she can, in life, in art, in science, but she fears to let the perfect action take her part and rest there: she must prove what she can do before she does it, -- prate of woman's rights, of woman's mission, woman's function, till the men (who are prating, too, on their side) cry, A woman's function plainly is... to talk. Poor souls, they are very reasonably vexed!

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.