The Green Grass Floweth Like A Stream

Metaphor Is No Argument, Though It Be Sometimes The Gunpowder To Drive One Home, And Imbed It In The Memory.

Tiny Salmoneus Of The Air His Mimic Bolts The Firefly Threw.

Men Have Their Intellectual Ancestry, And The Likeness Of Some One Of Them Is Forever Unexpectedly Flashing Out In The Features Of A Descendant, It May Be After A Gap Of Several Centuries. In The Parliament Of The Present Every Man Represents A Constituency Of The Past.

Whoever Can Endure Unmixed Delight, Whoever Can Tolerate Music And Painting And Poetry All In One, Whoever Wishes To Be Rid Of Thought And To Let The Busy Anvils Of The Brain Be Silent For A Time, Let Him Read In The "faery Queen."

Talent Is That Which Is In A Man's Power; Genius Is That In Whose Power A Man Is.