Youth Is A Season That Has No

Hard Are Life's Early Steps; And But That Youth Is Buoyant, Confident, And Strong In Hope, Men Would Behold Its Threshold, And Despair.

Strange Mystery Of Our Nature, That Those In Whom Genius Develops Itself In Imagination, Thus Taking Its Most Ethereal Form, Should Yet Be The Most Dependent On The Opinions Of Others!

There Is No Denying That There Are 'royal Roads' Through Existence For The Upper Classes; For Them, At Least, The Highways Are Macadamized, Swept, And Watered.

No Thoroughly Occupied Man Was Ever Yet Very Miserable.

How Often, In This Cold And Bitter World, Is The Warm Heart Thrown Back Upon Itself! Cold, Careless, Are We Of Another's Grief; We Wrap Ourselves In Sullen Selfishness.