You will, I trust, resemble a forest plant, which has indeed, by some accident, been brought up in the greenhouse, and thus rendered delicate and effeminate, but which regains its native firmness and tenacity, when exposed for a season to the winter air.

That day of wrath, that dreadful day. When heaven and earth shall pass away.

Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.

Nothing is more completely the child of art than a garden.

It is more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle.

Love will subsist on wonderfully little hope but not altogether without it.

Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.