We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage.
A word once vulgarized can never be rehabilitated.
Not suffering, but faint heart, is worst of woes.
It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century.
A weed is no more than a flower in disguise, Which is seen through at once, if love give a man eyes.
Granting our wish is one of Fate's saddest jokes.