O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day!
Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.
Tears such as angels weep.
There is nothing that making men rich and strong but that which they carry inside of them. True wealth is of the heart, not of the hand.
And feel that I am happier than I know.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?