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When it comes to my own turn to lay my weapons down, I shall do so with thankfulness and fatigue, and whatever be my destiny after ward, I shall be gl...more

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The VagabondGive to me the life I love,Let the lave go by me,Give the jolly heaven aboveAnd the byway nigh me.Bed in the bush with stars to see,Bread ...more

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Wine is bottled poetry.

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Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shoreWhere neither piping bird nor peeping dawnDisturbs the eter...more

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To look back upon the past year, and see how little we have striven and to what small purpose: and how often we have been cowardly and hung back, or t...more

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Everyone lives by selling something.

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These (Shakespeare, Milton, and Victor Hugo) not only knit and knot the logical texture of the style with all the dexterity and strength of prose; the...more

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Vanity dies hard, in some obstinate cases it outlives the man.