O Liberty...! is it well To leave the gates unguarded?

Come watch with me the shaft of fire that glows in yonder West; the fair, frail palaces, The fading Alps and archipelagoes and great cloud continents of sunset-seas.

The man who suspects his own tediousness is yet to be born.

When friends are at your hearthside met, Sweet courtesy has done its most If you have made each guest forget That he himself is not the host.

Great orators who are not also great writers become very indistinct shadows to the generations following them. The spell vanishes with the voice.

Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant

Books that have become classics - books that have had their day and now get more praise than perusal - always remind me of retired colonels and majors and captains who, having reached the age limit, find themselves retired on half pay.