"The London streets are paths of loveliness; the very omnibuses look like colored archangels, their laps filled full of little trustful souls."

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Posthumous fame is a plant of tardy growth, for our body must be the seed of it; or we may liken it to a torch, which nothing but the last spark of life can light up; or we may compare it to the trumpet of the archangel, for it is blown over the dead; but unlike that awful blast, it is of earth, not of heaven, and can neither rouse nor raise us.

— Charles Caleb Colton