English I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!
Lives of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn.
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence.
Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
There are three things which the public will always clamor for, sooner or later: namely, novelty, novelty, novelty.