Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest art of all the arts. Painting and sculpture are but images, Are merely shadows cast by outward things On stone or canvas, having in themselves No separate existence. Architecture, Existing in itself, and not in seeming A something it is not, surpasses them As substance shadow.

The prayer of Ajax was for light.

The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!

Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.

The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable.

And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.

Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.