I can bear scorpion's stings, tread fields of fire, in frozen gulfs of cold eternal lie, be tossed aloft through tracts of endless void, but cannot live in shame.

The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.

I believe this earth on which we stand is but the vestibule to glorious mansions through which a moving crowd forever press.

It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .

Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.

Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love; though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.

The plainest case in many words entangling.