Some Natures Are Too Good To Be

The Best Effort Of A Fine Person Is Felt After We Have Left Their Presence.

Hither Rolls The Storm Of Heat; I Feel Its Finer Billows Beat Like A Sea Which Me Infolds; Heat With Viewless Fingers Moulds, Swells, And Mellows, And Matures, Paints, And Flavors, And Allures, Bird And Brier Inly Warms, Still Enriches And Transforms, Gives The Reed And Lily Length, Adds To Oak And Oxen Strength, Transforming What It Doth Infold, Life Out Of Death, New Out Of Old.

Life Consists In What A Man Is Thinking Of All Day.

Truth Has Not Single Victories; All Things Are Its Organs,--not Only Dust And Stones, But Errors And Lies.

Our High Respect For A Well-read Man Is Praise Enough For Literature. - Ralph Waldo Emerson