The Nurse Of Full-grown Souls Is Solitude.

The Victory's In Believing.

I Willingly Confess To So Great A Partiality For Trees As Tempts Me To Respect A Man In Exact Proportion To His Respect For Them.

In The Earliest Ages Science Was Poetry, As In The Later Poetry Has Become Science.

With Every Step Of The Recent Traveler Our Inheritance Of The Wonderful Is Diminished. Those Beautiful Pictured Notes Of The Possible Are Redeemed At A Ruinous Discount In The Hard Coin Of The Actual.

That Best Academy, A Mother's Knee.