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

Men! whose boast it is that ye Come of fathers brave and free, If there breathe on earth a slave, Are ye truly free and brave?

Tyrants are but the spawn of Ignorance, Begotten by the slaves they trample on.

Safe in the hallowed quiets of the past.

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.

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide.

I would hardly change the sorrowful words of the poets for their glad ones. Tears dampen the strings of the lyre, but they grow the tensor for it, and ring even the clearer and more ravishingly.