Evil, Be Thou My Good.

Sweet Bird, That Shun The Noise Of Folly, Most Musical, Most Melancholy!

Innumerable As The Stars Of Night, Or Stars Of Morning, Dewdrops Which The Sun Impearls On Every Leaf And Every Flower.

Books Are Not Absolutely Dead Things, But Do Contain A Potency Of Life In Them....i Know They Are As Lively And As Vigorously Productive As Those Fabulous Dragon's Teeth And Being Sown Up And Down, May Chance To Spring Up Armed Men.

O Fleeting Joys Of Paradise, Dear Bought With Lasting Woes!

Fame Is No Plant That Grows On Mortal Soil.