The nunneries of silent nooks, the murmured longing of the wood.

It is the rooted instinct in men to admire what is better and more beautiful than themselves.

Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed, And feeds the green earth with its swift decay, Leaving it richer for the growth of truth.

Certainly it is no shame to a man that he should be as nice about his country as his sweetheart, yet it would not be wise to hold everyone an enemy who could not see her with our own enchanted eyes.

Life may be given in many ways, and loyalty to truth be sealed as bravely in the closet as the field.

There is no bore we dread being left alone with so much as our own minds.

God'll send the bill to you.