The passion you forbade my lips to utter Will not be silenced. You must hear it in The sullen thunders when they roll and mutter: And when the tempest nears, with wail and din, I know your calm forgetfulness is broken, And to your heart you whisper, "He has spoken."

Always continue to climb.

How happy they are, in all seeming, How gay, or how smilingly proud, How brightly their faces are beaming, These people who make up the crowd!

Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, your head like the golden rod, and we will go sailing away from here to the beautiful Land Of Nod.

One ship drives east and other drives west by the same winds that blow. It's the set of the sails and not the gales that determines the way they go.

A weed is but an unloved flower.

It is time that outraged public sentiment cry out in detestation of the outrages committed in the name of religion.