And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, >>
There is no such thing as an ugly language. Today I hear every languag >>
The secret of language is the secret of sympathy and its full charm is >>
A mind enclosed in language is in prison. >>
And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain of our best glories shall be sent, 't unknowing Nations with our stores? What worlds in the yet unformed Occident may come refined with the accents that are ours?