I Have A Passion For Ballad. .

Being All Fashioned Of The Self-same Dust, Let Us Be Merciful As Well As Just

My Book And Heart Shall Never Part.

A Spirit Of Criticism, If Indulged In, Leads To A Censoriousness Of Disposition That Is Destructive Of All Nobler Feeling. The Man Who Lives To Find Faults Has A Miserable Mission.

And When She Was Good She Was Very Very Good. But When She Was Bad She Was Horrid.

Where Should The Scholar Live? In Solitude, Or In Society? In The Green Stillness Of The Country, Where He Can Hear The Heart Of Nature Beat, Or In The Dark, Gray Town Where He Can Hear And Feel The Throbbing Heart Of Man?