I Do Not Believe Anyone Can Be

The Student Has His Rome, His Florence, His Whole Glowing Italy, Within The Four Walls Of His Library. He Has In His Books The Ruins Of An Antique World And The Glories Of A Modern One.

Dreams Or Illusions, Call Them What You Will, They Lift Us From The Commonplace Of Life To Better Things.

Like A French Poem Is Life; Being Only Perfect In Structure When With The Masculine Rhymes Mingled The Feminine Are.

There Is No Grief Like The Grief That Does Not Speak.

They Are Dead; But They Live In Each Patriot's Breast, And Their Names Are Engraven On Honor's Bright Crest.