There is nothing the body suffers that the soul may not profit by.

'How divine is utterance!' she said. 'As we to the brutes, poets are to us.'

Ireland gives England her soldiers, her generals too.

The well of true wit is truth itself.

My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He wrote: 'In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will…

I go - as others already crucified have gone. And think not we are weary of crucifixion. For we must be crucified by larger and yet larger men, between greater…

:some say that Happiness is not Good for Mortals & they ought to be answerd that Sorrow is not fit for Immortals & is utterly useless to any one a blight never…