God's rarest blessing is, after all, a good woman!
I know him, February's thrush, And loud at eve he valentines On sprays that paw the naked bush Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.
The man of science is nothing if not a poet gone wrong.
The man who has no mind of his own lends it to the priests.
We are betrayed by what is false within
When I was quite a boy I had a spasm of religion which lasted six weeks... But I never since have swallowed the Christian fable.