Mirth Itself Is Too Often But Melancholy

"books ... Books, ..." He Exclaims. It Is Those That Teach Us To Refine On Our Pleasures When Young, And Which, Having So Taught Us, Enable Us To Recall Them With Satisfaction When Old.

A Pleasure So Exquisite As Almost To Amount To Pain.

We Are Violets Blue, For Our Sweetness Found Careless In The Mossy Shades, Looking On The Ground. Love's Dropp'd Eyelids And A Kiss,-- Such Our Breath And Blueness Is.

When Goethe Says That In Every Human Condition Foes Lie In Wait For Us, "invincible Only By Cheerfulness And Equanimity," He Does Not Mean That We Can At All Times Be Really Cheerful, Or At A Moment's Notice; But That The Endeavor To Look At The Better Side Of Things Will Produce The Habit, And That This Habit Is The Surest Safeguard Against The Danger Of Sudden Evils.

Beauty Too Often Sacrifices To Fashion. The Spirit Of Fashion Is Not The Beautiful, But The Wilful; Not The Graceful, But The Fantastic; Not The Superior In The Abstract, But The Superior In The Worst Of All Concretes,-the Vulgar.