That Low Vice, Curiosity!

The Heart Ran O'er With Silent Worship Of The Great Of Old!-- The Dead, But Sceptred Sovereigns, Who Still Rule Our Spirits From Their Urns.

It Is The Lava Of The Imagination Whose Eruption Prevents An Earthquake.

Shakespeare's Name, You May Depend On It, Stands Absurdly Too High And Will Go Down.

It Is When We Think We Lead That We Are Most Led.

Of All The Horrid, Hideous Notes Of Woe, Sadder Than Owl-songs Or The Midnight Blast; Is That Portentous Phrase, "i Told You So.