Nothing Can Permanently Please, Which Doesn't Contain

A Noise Like Of A Hidden Brook In The Leafy Month Of June, That To The Sleeping Woods All Night Singeth A Quiet Tune.

You See How This House Of Commons Has Begun To Verify All The Ill Prophecies That Were Made Of It - Low, Vulgar, Meddling With Everything, Assuming Universal Competency, And Flattering Every Base Passion - And Sneering At Everything Noble Refined And Truly National. The Direct Tyranny Will Come On By And By, After It Shall Have Gratified The Multitude With The Spoil And Ruin Of The Old Institutions Of The Land.

Falsehood Is Fire In Stubble; It Likewise Turns All The Light Stuff Around It Into Its Own Substance For A Moment, One Crackling Blazing Moment, And Then Dies; And All Its Converts Are Scattered In The Wind, Without Place Or Evidence Of Their Existence, As Viewless As The Wind Which Scatters Them.

Experience Informs Us That The First Defence Of Weak Minds Is To Recriminate.

The Wise Only Possess Ideas; The Greater Part Of Mankind Are Possessed By Them.