Great Men Stand Like Solitary Towers In

O Ye Dead Poets, Who Are Living Still Immortal In Your Verse, Though Life Be Fled, And Ye, O Living Poets, Who Are Dead Though Ye Are Living, If Neglect Can Kill, Tell Me If In The Darkest Hours Of Ill, With Drops Of Anguish Falling Fast And Red From The Sharp Crown Of Thorns Upon Your Head, Ye Were Not Glad Your Errand To Fulfill?

Men Should Soon Make Up Their Minds To Be Forgotten, And Look About Them, Or Within Them, For Some Higher Motive In What They Do Than The Approbation Of Men, Which Is Fame, Namely, Their Duty; That They Should Be Constantly And Quietly At Work, Each In His Sphere, Regardless Of Effects, And Leaving Their Fame To Take Care Of Itself.

Stay, Stay At Home, My Heart And Rest; Home-keeping Hearts Are Happiest.

There's Nothing In This World So Sweet As Love. And Next To Love The Sweetest Thing Is Hate.

To Say The Least, A Town Life Makes One More Tolerant And Liberal In One's Judgment Of Others.