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Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.
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Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness-a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster-children into strength and athletic proportion.
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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit
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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
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I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart,
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