Hate and mistrust are the children of blindness.

The after-silence, when the feast is o'er,And void the places where the minstrels stood,Differs in nought from what hath been before,And is nor ill nor good.

God, eldest of Poets.

Personally, I do not believe that we shall have greater armaments in the future than we have had in the past. On the contrary, I believe there will be a gradual diminution in this respect.

The thirst to know and understand a large and liberal discontent.

Deemest thou laborOnly is earnest?Grave is all beauty,Solemn is joy.

And though circuitous and obscureThe feet of Nemesis how sure!