They talk about their Pilgrim blood, their birthright high and holy! a mountain-stream that ends in mud thinks is melancholy.

Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.

These pearls of thought in Persian gulfs were bred, Each softly lucent as a rounded moon; The diver Omar plucked them from their bed, Fitzgerald strung them on an English thread.

Endurance is the crowning quality.

It is curious how tyrannical the habit of reading is...

At the devil's booth are all things sold. Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold.

I don't believe in princerple, But oh I du in interest.