Echo waits with art and careAnd will the faults of song repair.
Nature, as we know her, is no saint.... She comes eating and drinking and sinning.
Our best thoughts come from others.
It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.
The reward of a thing well done, is to have done it.
Life consists in what a man is thinking of all day.
I heard * * ** * * the great echo flapAnd buffet round the hills from bluff to bluff.
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown,Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.
Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,And feeds her grief.
Mysterious haunts of echoes old and far,The voice divine of human loyalty.
And more than echoes talk along the walls.
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