They who see the Flying Dutchman never, never reach the shore. - John Boyle O'Reilly

The organized charity, scrimped and iced, In the name of a cautious, statistical Christ.

I'd rather live in Bohemia than in any other land.

Though it lash the shallows that line the beach, Afar from the great sea-deeps,
There is never a storm whose might can reach Where the vast leviathan sleeps.
Like a mighty thought in a mighty mind In the clear cold depths he swims;
Whilst above him the pettiest form of his kind With a dash o'er the surface skims.