Our friends, the enemy.
Paradise is open to all kind hearts.
Adieu! 'tis love's last greeting, The parting hour is come! And fast thy soul is fleeting To seek its starry home.
Our century is a brutal thinker.
Glory is a shroud that posterity often tears from the shoulders of those who wore it when living.
Many have lived on a pedestal who will never have a statue when dead.