The Plays Of Children Are Nonsense, But

Almost All People Descend To Meet. All Association Must Be A Compromise, And, What Is Worst, The Very Flower And Aroma Of The Flower Of Each Of The Beautiful Natures Disappears As They Approach Each Other.

It Is Long Ere We Discover How Rich We Are. Our History, We Are Sure, Is Quite Tame: We Have Nothing To Write, Nothing To Infer. But Our Wiser Years Still Run Back To The Despised Recollections Of Childhood, And Always We Are Fishing Up Some Wonderful Article Out Of That Pond; Until, By And By, We Begin To Suspect That The Biography Of The One Foolish Person We Know Is, In Reality, Nothing Less Than The Miniature Paraphrase Of The Hundred Volumes Of The Universal History.

The Genius Of Life Is Friendly To The Noble, And, In The Dark, Brings Them Friends From Far.

A Man Is The Whole Encyclopedia Of Facts. The Creation Of A Thousand Forests Is In One Acorn, And Egypt, Greece, Rome, Gaul, Britain, America, Lie Folded Already In The First Man.

The Life Of Man Is A Self-evolving Circle.