In the parliament of the present every man represents a constituency of the past.

In vain we call old notions fudge, And bend our conscience to our dealing; The Ten Commandments will not budge, And stealing will continue stealing.

Better one bite at forty, of truths bitter rind, than the hot wine that gushed from the vintage of twenty.

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.

And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days.

Truth, after all, wears a different face to everybody, and it would be too tedious to wait till all were agreed.

For men in earnest have no time to waste In patching fig-leaves for the naked truth.