I Cannot Live Without Books.

On A Hot Day In Virginia, I Know Nothing More Comforting Than A Fine Spiced Pickle, Brought Up Trout-like From The Sparkling Depths Of The Aromatic Jar Below The Stairs Of Aunt Sally's Cellar.

Should Things Go Wrong At Any Time, The People Will Set Them To Rights By The Peaceable Exercise Of Their Elective Rights.

The Flames Kindled On The Fourth Of July, 1776, Have Spread Over Too Much Of The Globe To Be Extinguished By The Feeble Engines Of Despotism; On The Contrary, They Will Consume These Engines And All Who Work Them.

All The States But Our Own Are Sensible That Knowlege Is Power.

Man, Once Surrendering His Reason, Has No Remaining Guard Against Absurdities The Most Monstrous. . . .