In the mouths of many men soft words are like roses that soldiers put into the muzzles of their muskets on holidays.

With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought; they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.

Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.

This is the place. Stand still, my steed,- Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been.

The world loves a spice of wickedness.

Sail on ship of state, sail on, I union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, with all its hopes of future years, is hanging on thy fate!

Success is not something to wait for, it is something to work for.