Poetry Is The Breath Of Beauty.

Beauty Too Often Sacrifices To Fashion.

Bread, Milk And Butter Are Of Venerable Antiquity. They Taste Of The Morning Of The World.

"books ... Books, ..." He Exclaims. It Is Those That Teach Us To Refine On Our Pleasures When Young, And Which, Having So Taught Us, Enable Us To Recall Them With Satisfaction When Old.

No Wonder Is Greater Than Any Other Wonder, And If Once Explained Ceases To Be A Wonder.

Hair Is The Most Delicate And Lasting Of Our Materials, And Survives Us, Like Love. It Is So Light, So Gentle; So Escaping From The Idea Of Death, That, With A Lock Of Hair Belonging To A Child Or Friend, We May Almost Look Up To Heaven And Compare Notes With The Angelic Nature,--may Almost Say, "i Have A Piece Of Thee Here Not Unworthy Of Thy Being Now.