Of All Man's Works Of Art, A

Nothing Is Orderly Till Man Takes Hold Of It. Everything In Creation Lies Around Loose.

Nature Is A Vast Repository Of Manly Enjoyments.

The One Great Poem Of New England Is Her Sunday.

The Cynic Is One Who Never Sees A Good Quality In A Man, And Never Fails To See A Bad One. He Is The Human Owl, Vigilant In Darkness And Blind To Light, Mousing For Vermin, And Never Seeing Noble Game.

There Is An Army Of Waiters In This World.