Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle, Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong. - Alfred Edward Housman

In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.

My heart always warms to people who do not come to see me, especially Americans, to whom it seems to be more of an effort.

Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack, And leave your friends and go. Oh never fear, man, nought's to dread, Look not to left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night.