There is need of brevity, that the thought may run on.

Glory drags all men along, low as well as high, bound captive at the wheels of her glittering car.

The human race afraid of nothing, rushes on through every crime.

Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.

Painters and poets alike have always had license to dare anything! We know that, and we both claim and allow to others in their turn this indulgence.

Once sent out, a word takes wings beyond recall.

If the crow had been satisfied to eat his prey in silence, he would have had more meat and less quarreling and envy.