Every Witticism Is An Inexact Thought; That

States, Like Men, Have Their Growth, Their Manhood, Their Decrepitude, Their Decay.

The Siren Waits Thee, Singing Song For Song.

A Smile Is Ever The Most Bright And Beautiful With A Tear Upon It. What Is The Dawn Without The Dew? The Tear Is Rendered By The Smile Precious Above The Smile Itself.

Merit Has Rarely Risen Of Itself, But A Pebble Or A Twig Is Often Quite Sufficient For It To Spring From To The Highest Ascent. There Is Usually Some Baseness Before There Is Any Elevation.

O Music! How It Grieves Me That Imprudence, Intemperance, Gluttony, Should Open Their Channels Into Thy Sacred Stream.