The greatest homage we can pay to truth, is to use it.

There is no work of genius which has not been the delight of mankind, no word of genius to which the human heart and soul have not sooner or later responded.

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

Here was a type of the true elder race, And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face.

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree was ridged inch deep with pearl.

Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite And to our age’s drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.

Each day the world is born anew for him who takes it rightly.