Books Have Become Our Dearest Companions, Yielding

The Opinion Of The Majority Is Not Lightly To Be Rejected; But Neither Is It To Be Carelessly Echoed.

If The Members Of A Class Do Not Understand -- If Those Directly Addressed Fail To Listen, Or Listening, Fail To Recognize A Power In The Voice -- Surely The Fault Lies With The Speaker, Who, Having Attempted To Secure Their Attention And Enlighten Their Understandings, Has Failed In The Attempt.

The Mathematician Who Is Without Value To Mathematicians, The Thinker Who Is Obscure Or Meaningless To Thinkers, The Dramatist Who Fails To Move The Pit, May Be Wise, May Be Eminent, But As An Author He Has Failed.

Love Is Blind; Couch Not His Eyes.

The Art Of Writing Is Not, As Many Seem To Imagine, The Art Of Bringing Fine Phrases Into Rhythmical Order, But The Art Of Placing Before The Reader Intelligible Symbols Of The Thoughts And Feelings In The Writer's Mind.