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— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow"The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed."
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Oh, sir, the loftiest hopes on earth Draw lots with meaner hopes: heroic breasts, Breathing bad air, run risk of pestilence; Or, lacking lime-juice when they cross the Line, May languish with the scurvy.
— George Eliot
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O Liberty, white Goddess! is it well to leave the gates unguarded? On thy breast fold Sorrow's children, soothe the hurts of Fate, lift the down-trodden, but with hand of steel stay those who to thy sacred portals come to waste the gifts of Freedom.
— Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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