And though thou notest from thy safe recess old friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air love them for what they are; nor love them less, because to thee they are not what they were.
Alas! they had been friends in youth; but whispering tongues can poison truth.
Talk of the devil, and his horns appear.
The human voice deployed to recite the Vedas and later aid the temple dancers was paramount before any instruments emerged.
Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.
Revolutionaries are not infallible.
The friends whom I have are invaluable, and although not numerous they are sufficient for my enjoyment; and the texture of my own mind renders me very indifferent to the rest of the world.
Brutality to an animal is cruelty to mankind – it is only the difference in the victim.
I’m not naturally manipulative.
I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is, prose = words in their best order; – poetry = the best words in the best order.