Mark! Where his carnage and his conquests cease, He makes a solitude and calls it-peace!
I loved my country, and I hated him.
My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.
But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
A celebrity is one who is known to many persons he is glad he doesn't know.
Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf.