Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long; if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.

Youth is stranger than fiction.

The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.

But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own.

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.

But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, is wetter water, slimier slime! And there (they trust) there swimmeth one who swam ere rivers were begun, immense of fishy form and mind, squamous omnipotent, and kind.