Boys Are Capital Fellows In Their Own

I Could Never Hate Anyone I Knew.

To Be Thankful For What We Grasp Exceeding Our Proportion Is To Add Hypocrisy To Injustice.

Fly Not Yet; 't Is Just The Hour When Pleasure, Like The Midnight Flower That Scorns The Eye Of Vulgar Light, Begins To Bloom For Sons Of Night And Maids Who Love The Moon.

His Voice Was The Most Obnoxious Squeak I Ever Was Tormented With.

Not Childhood Alone, But The Young Man Till Thirty, Never Feels Practically That He Is Mortal.