What man does not understand, he fears; and what he fears, he tends to destroy.

How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here's a travelled man that knows What he talks about, And there's a politician That has read and thought, And maybe what they say is true Of war and war's alarms, But O that I were young again And held her in my arms!

It takes more courage to dig deep in the dark corners of your own soul and the back alleys of your society than it does for a soldier to fight on the battlefield.

Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.

Poet and sculptor, do the work, / Nor let the modish painter shirk

I Sing what was lost and dread what was won, / I walk in a battle fought over again.

Not a man alive has so much luck that he can play with it.