Turn on its noiseless hinges, delicate sleep!

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

But I, in the chilling twilight stand and wait At the portcullis, at thy castle gate, Longing to see the charmed door of dreams Turn on its noiseless hinges, delicate sleep!

Civilization is the lamb's skin in which barbarism masquerades.

The possession of gold has ruined fewer men than the lack of it. What noble enterprises have been checked and what fine souls have been blighted in the gloom of poverty the world will never know.

It were better to be a soldier's widow than a coward's wife.

The ring of a false coin is not more recognizable than that of a rhyme setting forth a false sorrow.