Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.

The castled crag of Drachenfels, Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine.

Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf.

My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep, But a continuance of enduring thought, Which then I can resist not: in my heart There is a vigil, and these eyes but close To look within; and yet I live, and bear The aspect and the form of breathing men.

Liberty - eternal spirit of the chainless mind

Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.