Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!

He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night!

They used to say that knowledge is power. I used to think so, but I know now they mean money.

Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never

Friendship is Love without his wings!

Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.