Let them cant about decorum, who have characters to lose!
Even tho who mournst the daisies fate, that fate is thine.
My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav’n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
When chill November’s surly blast make fields and forest bare.
But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever. Had we never lou’d sae kindly, Had we never lou’d sae blindly, Never met – or never parted – We had ne’er been broken hearted.
A mind that is conscious of its integrity scorns to say more than it means to perform.
I want someone to laugh with me, someone to be grave with me, someone to please me and help my discrimination with his or her own remark, and at times, no doubt, to admire my acuteness and penetration.
Dare to be honest and fear no labor.