Rising Genius Always Shoots Forth Its Rays

History Fades Into Fable; Fact Becomes Clouded With Doubt And Controversy; The Inscription Molders From The Tablet: The Statue Falls From The Pedestal. Columns, Arches, Pyramids, What Are They But Heaps Of Sand; And Their Epitaphs, But Characters Written In The Dust?

The Natural Effect Of Sorrow Over The Dead Is To Refine And Elevate The Mind.

There Is A Certain Artificial Polish, A Commonplace Vivacity Acquired By Perpetually Mingling In The Beau Monde; Which, In The Commerce Of World, Supplies The Place Of Natural Suavity And Good-humour, But Is Purchased At The Expense Of All Original And Sterling Traits Of Character.

There Is A Sacredness In Tears

A Tart Temper Never Mellows With Age, And A Sharp Tongue Is The Only Edged Tool That Grows Keener With Constant Use.