The Love Of Posterity Is The Consequence

There Is No Greater Bugbear Than A Strong Willed Relative In The Circle Of His Own Connections.

She Could No Longer Borrow From The Future To Ease Her Present Grief.

The Best Of Us Being Unfit To Die, What An Unexpressible Absurdity To Put The Worst To Death.

His Stories Are Good To Hear At Night, Because We Can Dream About Them Asleep; And Good In The Morning, Too, Because Then We Can Dream About Them Awake. (cowslip)

Halfway Down A By-street Of One Of Our New England Towns Stands A Rusty Wooden House, With Seven Acutely Peaked Gables, Facing Towards Various Points Of The Compass, And A Huge, Clustered Chimney In The Midst. The Street Is Pyncheon Street; The House Is The Old Pyncheon House; And An Elm-tree, Of Wide Circumference, Rooted Before The Door, Is Familiar To Every Town-born Child By The Title Of The Pyncheon Elm.