We lovd, and we lovd as long as we could Til our love was lovd out in us both; But our marriage is dead, when the pleasure has fled: Twas pleasure that made it an oath. – John Dryden
So shall I fight, so shall I tread, In this long war beneath the stars; So shall a glory wreathe my head, So shall I faint and show the scars, Until this case, this clogging mould, Be smithied all to kingly gold. – John Edward Masefield
Even in the meanest sorts of labor, the whole soul of a man is composed into a kind of real harmony the instant he sets himself to work. – Thomas Carlyle
