Mellow Nuts Have The Hardest Rind.

The Tear, Down Childhood's Cheek That Flows, Is Like The Dewdrop On The Rose; When Next The Summer Breeze Comes By And Waves The Bush, The Flower Is Dry.

O, What A Tangled Web We Weave When First We Practise To Deceive!

True Love's The Gift Which God Has Given To Man Alone Beneath The Heaven.

In Man's Most Dark Extremity Oft Succour Dawns From Heaven.

The Time Which Passes Over Our Heads So Imperceptibly Makes The Same Gradual Change In Habits, Manners And Character, As In Personal Appearance. At The Revolution Of Every Five Years We Find Ourselves Another And Yet The Same;--there Is A Change Of Views, And No Less Of The Light In Which We Regard Them; A Change Of Motives As Well As Of Action.