Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were; First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?

Lord of himself; that heritage of woe!

Tyranny is for the worst of treasons.

My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.

When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter." And proved it--'t was no matter what he said.

Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.