Our purpose is to grow up and become love
The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
Coming events cast their shadows before.
He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.
What millions died that Caesar might be great!