No Man Does Anything From A Single

Her Lips Were Red, Her Looks Were Free, Her Locks Were Yellow As Gold: Her Skin Was White As Leprosy, The Nightmare Life-in-death Was She, Who Thicks Man's Blood With Cold.

Ignorance Seldom Vaults Into Knowledge, But Passes Into It Through An Intermediate State Of Obscurity, Even As Night Into Day Through Twilight.

Like One, That On A Lonesome Road Doth Walk In Fear And Dread, And Having Once Turned Round Walks On, And Turns No More His Head; Because He Knows, A Frightful Fiend Doth Close Behind Him Tread.

Dryden 's Genius Was Of That Sort Which Catches Fire By Its Own Motion; His Chariot Wheels Get Hot By Driving Fast.

The Happiness Of Life Is Made Up Of Minute Fractions - The Little, Soon Forgotten Charities Of A Kiss Or A Smile, A Kind Look Or Heartfelt Compliment.