All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.

I'm not talking about a "show me other walls of this thing" button, I mean a "stumble" button for wallbase.

But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.

That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

And I am happy when I sing.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.

Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.