We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.
On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage, Yet had not quench'd the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth: Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare.
Give me an honest laugher.
O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!
Treason seldom dwells with courage.
What is a diary as a rule? A document useful to the person who keeps it. Dull to the contemporary who reads it and invaluable to the student, centuries afterwards, who treasures it.