I Cannot See Why A Taste For

There Is A Large Stock On Hand; But Somehow Or Other, Nobody's Experience Ever Suits Us But Our Own.

Toil Is The Portion Of Day, As Sleep Is That Of Night; But If There Be One Hour Of The Twenty-four Which Has The Life Of Day Without Its Labor, And The Rest Of Night Without Its Slumber, It Is The Lovely And Languid Hour Of Twilight.

The Heart's Hushed Secret In The Soft Dark Eye.

It Is Said That Ridicule Is The Test Of Truth: It Is Never Applied, But When We Wish To Deceive Ourselves.

When Does The Mind Put Forth Its Powers? When Are The Stores Of Memory Unlocked? When Does Wit 'flash From Fluent Lips?' -- When But After A Good Dinner? Who Will Deny Its Influence On The Affections? Half Our Friends Are Born Of Turbots And Truffles.