The First Pale Blossom Of The Unripened

The Dead Of Midnight Is The Noon Of Thought.

The World Has Little To Bestow Where Two Fond Hearts In Equal Love Are Joined.

While Genius Was Thus Wasting His Strength In Eccentric Flights, I Saw A Person Of A Very Different Appearance, Named Application.

We Neither Laugh Alone, Nor Weep Alone, Why Then Should We Pray Alone?

It Is To Hope, Though Hope Were Lost.