A Grief Without A Pang, Void, Dark

Nothing Can Permanently Please, Which Doesn't Contain In Itself The Reason Why It Is So, And Not Otherwise.

I Know The Bible Is Inspired Because It Finds Me At Greater Depths Of My Being Than Any Other Book.

The Intelligible Forms Of Ancient Poets, The Fair Humanities Of Old Religion, The Power, The Beauty, And The Majesty That Had Their Haunts In Dale Or Piny Mountain, Or Forest By Slow Stream, Or Pebbly Spring, Or Chasms And Watery Depths, All These Have Vanished; They Live No Longer In The Faith Of Reason.

Joy Is The Sweet Voice, Joy The Luminous Cloud. We In Ourselves Rejoice! And Thence Flows All That Charms Or Ear Or Sight, All Melodies The Echoes Of That Voice, All Colours A Suffusion From That Light.

Readers May Be Divided Into Four Classes: 1) Sponges, Who Absorb All That They Read And Return It In Nearly The Same State, Only A Little Dirtied. 2) Sand-glasses, Who Retain Nothing And Are Content To Get Through A Book For The Sake Of Getting Through The Time. 3) Strain-bags, Who Retain Merely The Dregs Of What They Read. 4) Mogul Diamonds, Equally Rare And Valuable, Who Profit By What They Read, And Enable Others To Profit By It Also