The Vices Of Some Men Are Magnificent.

We Are Nothing; Less Than Nothing, And Dreams. We Are Only What Might Have Been.

Oh, Ever Thus, From Childhood's Hour, I 've Seen My Fondest Hopes Decay; I Never Loved A Tree Or Flower But 't Was The First To Fade Away. I Never Nurs'd A Dear Gazelle, To Glad Me With Its Soft Black Eye, But When It Came To Know Me Well And Love Me, It Was Sure To Die.

Can We Ring The Bells Backward? Can We Unlearn The Arts That Pretend To Civilize, And Then Burn The World? There Is A March Of Science; But Who Shall Beat The Drums For Its Retreat?

Not Childhood Alone, But The Young Man Till Thirty, Never Feels Practically That He Is Mortal.

No Woman Dresses Below Herself From Mere Caprice.