All agree that memory is fugitive, but few draw the necessary conclusion about identity.
The obscurest epoch is today.
Our descendants will regard us for hanging men as we regard our ancestors for hanging dogs.
We owe modern clangor to the unremitting efforts of generations of quiet and sedentary men.
Mute inglorious Miltons, flowers born to blush unseen and waste their sweetness on the desert air, are extinct, and I miss them.