None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades High over-arch'd imbower.
Let her (Truth) and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?