The Eye Is Easily Frightened.

The City Is Recruited From The Country.

Labor Is God's Education.

All Men Are Poets At Heart.

The Masters Painted For Joy, And Knew Not That Virtue Had Gone Out Of Them. They Could Not Paint The Like In Cold Blood. The Masters Of English Lyric Wrote Their Songs So. It Was A Fine Efflorescence Of Fine Powers.

A Sleeping Child Gives Me The Impression Of A Traveler In A Very Far Country.