The World Is A Bundle Of Hay,

Earth! Render Back From Out Thy Breast A Remnant Of Our Spartan Dead! Of The Three Hundred Grant But Three, To Make A New Thermopylæ!

If We Must Have A Tyrant, Let Him At Least Be A Gentleman Who Has Been Bred To The Business, And Let Us Fall By The Axe And Not By The Butcher's Cleaver.

So For A Good Old-gentlemanly Vice, I Think I Must Take Up With Avarice.

Letter Writing Is The Only Device Combining Solitude With Good Company.

Where Are The Forms The Sculptor's Soul Hath Seized? In Him Alone, Can Nature Show As Fair?