Neither prosperity nor empire nor heaven can be worth winning at the price of a virulent temper, bloody hands, an anguished spirit, and a vain hatred of the rest of the world.

Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.

Courage never to submit of yield.

Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.

Time is the subtle thief of youth.

Praise from an enemy smells of craft.

To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.