The Dog Is The God Of Frolic.

The Rarest Feeling That Ever Lights A Human Face Is The Contentment Of A Loving Soul.

The Bible Stands Alone In Human Literature In Its Elevated Conception Of Manhood, In Character And Conduct.

The One Great Poem Of New England Is Her Sunday.

Genius Unexerted Is No More Genius Than A Bushel Of Acorns Is A Forest Of Oaks.

What If The Leaves Were To Fall A-weeping, And Say, "it Will Be So Painful For Us To Be Pulled From Our Stalks, When Autumn Comes?" Foolish Fear! Summer Goes, And Autumn Succeeds. The Glory Of Death Is Upon The Leaves; And The Gentlest Breeze That Blows Takes Them Softly And Silently From The Bough, And They Float Slowly Down, Like Fiery Sparks, Upon The Moss.