And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.
Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.
Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
There are certain scenes that would awe an atheist into belief, without the help of other argument.