Language Is The Archives Of History.

Traveling Is A Fool's Paradise. Our First Journeys Discover To Us The Indifference Of Places.

We Shun The Rugged Battle Of Fate Where Strength Is Born.

The Hues Of The Opal, The Light Of The Diamond, Are Not To Be Seen If The Eye Is Too Near.

Love Should Make Joy; But Our Benevolence Is Unhappy. Our Sunday-schools, And Churches, And Pauper-societies Are Yokes To The Neck. We Pain Ourselves To Please Nobody.

The Riddle Of The Age Has For Each A Private Solution.