The Decline Of Literature Indicates The Decline

Tomorrow Sees Undone, What Happens Not To-day; Still Forward Press, Nor Never Tire! The Possible, With Steadfast Trust, Resolve Should Be By The Forelock Grasp. Then She Will Ne'er Let Go Her Clasp, And Labors On, Because She Must.

We Are Never Deceived; We Deceive Ourselves.

Every Decided Colour Does A Certain Violence To The Eye, And Forces The Organ To Opposition.

Our Wishes Are Presentiments Of The Abilities That Lie In Us, Harbingers Of What We Will Be Able To Accomplish.

There Is Nothing In Which People More Betray Their Character Than In What They Laugh At.