A Man Of Maxims Only Is Like

There Are Errors Which No Wise Man Will Treat With Rudeness While There Is A Probability That They May Be The Refraction Of Some Great Truth Still Below The Horizon.

A Grief Without A Pang, Void, Dark And Drear, A Drowsy, Stifled, Unimpassioned Grief, Which Finds No Natural Outlet Or Relief, In Word, Or Sigh, Or Tear.

To Leave No Interval Between The Sentence And The Fulfillment Of It Doth Beseem God Only, The Immutable!

Sublimity Is Hebrew By Birth.

I Have Often Thought What A Melancholy World This Would Be Without Children, And What An Inhuman World Without The Aged.