Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
A brotherhood of venerable trees.
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.