We seem to catch the poet's voice as he says after the legend from the Baltic has been alluringly related by the Musician: "These tales you tell are, one and all, Of the Old World, Flowers gathered from a crumbling wall, Dead leaves that rustle as they fall; Let me present you in their stead Something of our New England earth; A tale which, though of no great worth, Has still this merit, that it yields A certain freshness of the fields, A sweetness as of home-made bread."
— from The Romance of Old New England Rooftrees by Mary Caroline Crawford

The answer to where we stand on our national energy effort today reminds me of the old argument about whether the tank is half full or half empty.
— from State of the Union Addresses by Gerald R. Ford