“Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,  One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,One more devils’-triumph and sorrow for angels,  One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!”

“Paracelsus At times I almost dreamI too have spent a life the sages’ way,And tread once more familiar paths. PerchanceI perished in an arrogant self-relianceAges ago; and in that act a prayerFor one more chance went up so earnest, soInstinct with better light let in by death,That life was blotted out — not so completelyBut scattered wrecks enough of it remain,Dim memories, as now, when once more seemsThe goal in sight again.”

“I was ever a fighter, so---one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forbore, and bade me creep past.”

“My first thought was, he lied in every word,That hoary cripple, with malicious eyeAskance to watch the working of his lieOn mine, and mouth scarce able to affordSuppression of the glee, that pursed and scoredIts edge, at one more victim gained thereby.”

“One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph.”

“God made all the creatures and them our love and out fear,To give sign, we and they are his children, one family here. ”

“What a name! Was it love or praise?Speech half-asleep or song half-awake?I must learn Spanish, one of these days,Only for that slow sweet name's sake.”