Light tomorrow with today!

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

When the dust of death has choked a great man's voice, the common words he said turn oracles, the common thoughts he yoked like horses draw like griffins.

Children use the fist until they are of age to use the brain.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Most illogical Irrational nature of our womanhood, That blushes one way, feels another way, And prays, perhaps another!

My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.