Never Pursue Literature As A Trade.

He Prayeth Best Who Loveth Best.

Why Is It That So Many Of Us Persist In Thinking That Autumn Is A Sad Season? Nature Has Merely Fallen Asleep, And Her Dreams Must Be Beautiful If We Are To Judge By Her Countenance.

I Believe That Obstinacy, Or The Dread Of Control And Discipline, Arises Not So Much From Self-willedness As From A Conscious Defect Of Voluntary Power; As Foolhardiness Is Not Seldom The Disguise Of Conscious Timidity.

What! Did Sir W[alter] R[aleigh] Believe That A Male And Female Ounce (and, If So, Why Not Two Tigers And Lions, Etc?) Would Have Produced, In A Course Of Generations, A Cat, Or A Cat A Lion? This Is Darwinizing With A Vengeance.

To See Him Act Is Like Reading Shakespeare By Flashes Of Lightning.