The Way To Write Is To Throw

Though Love Repine, And Reason Chafe, There Came A Voice Without Reply,- "'tis Man's Perdition To Be Safe, When For The Truth He Ought To Die."

A Little Fact Is Worth A Whole Limbo Of Dreams.

I Wiped Away The Weeds And Foam, I Fetched My Sea-born Treasures Home; But The Poor, Unsightly, Noisome Things Had Left Their Beauty On The Shore, With The Sun And The Sand And The Wild Uproar.

Sincerity Is The Highest Complement You Can Pay

A Child Is A Curly, Dimpled Lunatic.