Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one.

Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.

Whatsoever thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.

I see before me the gladiator lie.

I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

The busy have no time for tears.

In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.