My Heart Leaps At The Trumpet's Voice.

Authors Have Established It As A Kind Of Rule, That A Man Ought To Be Dull Sometimes; As The Most Severe Reader Makes Allowances For Many Rests And Nodding-places In A Voluminous Writer.

Nothing That Isn't A Real Crime Makes A Man Appear So Contemptible And Little In The Eyes Of The World As Inconsistency.

The Transition From Cause To Effect, From Event To Event, Is Often Carried On By Secret Steps, Which Our Foresight Cannot Divine, And Our Sagacity Is Unable To Trace.

The Pride Of Woman, Natural To Her, Never Sleeps Until Modesty Is Gone.

Whether Dark Presages Of The Night Proceed From Any Latent Power Of The Soul During Her Abstraction, Or From Any Operation Of Subordinate Spirits, Has Been A Dispute.