Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger.

Take them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone!

A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.

Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others.

Sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O Union, strong and great.