Most men make the voyage of life as if they carried sealed orders which they were not to open till they were fairly in mid-ocean.

Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust, Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is prosperous to be just; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified.

Life is the jailer, death the angel sent to draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.

Books are the bees which carry the quickening pollen from one to another mind.

Beauty hath no true glass, except it be in the sweet privacy of loving eyes.

Against the windows the storm comes dashing, Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, The blue lightning flashes, The rapid hail clashes... The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling.

The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare, And the last fragments of the storm, Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea, Silent and few, are drifting over me.