Private faces in public places / Are wiser and nicer / Than public faces in private places.

The stars are dead; the animals will not look:/ We are left alone with our day, and the time is short and / History to the defeated / May say Alas but cannot help or pardon.

Harrow the house of the dead; look shining at / New styles of architecture, a change of heart.

Only those in the last stage of disease could believe that children are true judges of character.

Poor Poe! At first so forgotten that his grave went without a tomb-stone twenty-six years. . . today in danger of becoming the life study of a few professors.