We first make our habits, and then our habits make us.

What passion cannot music raise and quell!

The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dream!

And nobler is a limited command, Given by the love of all your native land, Than a successive title, long and dark, Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's Ark.

No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.

No government has ever been, or can ever be, wherein time-servers and blockheads will not be uppermost.

Imagining is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.