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• Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Stanza 5...
• Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'T is only noble to be good.
  Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood....
• And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xviii, Stanza 1...
• And thus he bore without abuse The grand old name of gentleman, Defamed by every charlatan, And soil'd with all ignoble use.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, cxi, Stanza 6...
• Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold
  Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace!...
• The shadow cloak'd from head to foot.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxiii, Stanza 1...
• More black than ash-buds in the front of March.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- The Gardener's Daughte...
• Gorgonized me from head to foot, With a stony British stare.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- Maud, Part i, Sect. xiii, Stanza 2...
• Man makes history, he makes himself. -- Vere Gordon Childe.