The Reciprocal Civility Of Authors

Yet Reason Frowns In War's Unequal Game, Where Wasted Nations Raise A Single Name; And Mortgag'd States Their Grandsire's Wreaths Regret, From Age To Age In Everlasting Debt; Wreaths Which At Last The Dear-bought Right Convey To Rust On Medals, Or On Stones Decay.

Why, Sir, Sherry Is Dull, Naturally Dull; But It Must Have Taken Him A Great Deal Of Pains To Become What We Now See Him. Such An Excess Of Stupidity, Sir, Is Not In Nature.

The Whole Of Life Is But Keeping Away The Thoughts Of Death.

As I Know More Of Mankind I Expect Less Of Them, And Am Ready Now To Call A Man A Good Man Upon Easier Terms Than I Was Formerly.

Life Of Ages, Richly Poured, Love Of God Unspent And Free, Flowing In The Prophet's Word And The People's Liberty! Never Was To Chosen Race That Unstinted Tide Confined; Thine Is Every Time And Place, Fountain Sweet Of Heart And Mind!