The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
The still small voice of gratitude.