Of All The Things In Nature, The

For A Crowd Is Not Company; And Faces Are But A Gallery Of Pictures; And Talk But A Tinkling Cymbal, Where There Is No Love.

The Joys Of Parents Are Secret, And So Are Their Grieves And Fears.

God Has Placed No Limits To The Exercise Of The Intellect He Has Given Us, On This Side Of The Grave.

So That Every Wand Or Staff Of Empire Is Forsooth Curved At Top.

I Would Like, In My Arbitrary Way, To Bring One Nearer To The Actual Human Being.