If God made poets for anything, it was to keep alive the traditions of the pure, the holy, and the beautiful.

Not what we give, but what we share, for the gift without the giver is bare.

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.

Who knows whither the clouds have fled? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache.

And I honor the man who is willing to sink half his present repute for the freedom to think, and, when he has thought, be his cause strong or weak, Will risk t' other half for the freedom to speak.

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

A wise skepticism is the first attribute of a good critic.