A Mother Is A Mother Still, The

For I Often Please Myself With The Fancy, Now That I May Have Saved From Oblivion The Only Striking Passage In A Whole Volume, And Now That I May Have Attracted Notice To A Writer Undeservedly Forgotten.

A Bitter And Perplexed "what Shall I Do?" Is Worse To Man Than Worse Necessity.

The Whole Faculties Of Man Must Be Exerted In Order To Call Forth Noble Energies; And He Who Is Not Earnestly Sincere Lives In But Half His Being, Self-mutilated, Self-paralyzed.

Genius Of The Highest Kind Implies An Unusual Intensity Of The Modifying Power.

If A Man Could Pass Through Paradise In A Dream, And Have A Flower Presented To Him As A Pledge That His Soul Had Really Been There, And If He Found That Flower In His Hand When He Awake - Aye, What Then?