If you can sit at set of sun And count the deeds that you have done And counting find oneself-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him that heard. One glance most kind, Which fell like sunshine where he went, Then you may count that day well spent.

Man seeks his own good at the whole world's cost.

Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.

Best be yourself, imperial, plain, and true.

This could but have happened once,- And we missed it, lost it forever.

Escape me? Never, beloved! While I am I, and you are you.

A man in armour is his armour's slave.