Shakespeare Was Of Us, Milton Was Of

And Inasmuch As Feeling, The East's Gift, Is Quick And Transient,- Comes, And Lo! Is Gone, While Northern Thought Is Slow And Durable.

Men Are Not Angels, Neither Are They Brutes.

Italy, My Italy! Queen Mary's Saying Serves For Me (when Fortune's Malice Lost Her Calais): "open My Heart, And You Will See Graved Inside Of It 'italy.'"

When The Liquor's Out, Why Clink The Cannikin?

Sappho Survives, Because We Sing Her Songs; And Eschylus, Because We Read His Plays!