Thy Decay's Still Impregnate With Divinity.

To Be Perfectly Original One Should Think Much And Read Little, And This Is Impossible, For One Must Have Read Before One Has Learnt To Think.

Romances I Ne'er Read Like Those I Have Seen.

It Is Singular How Soon We Lose The Impression Of What Ceases To Be Constantly Before Us. A Year Impairs, A Luster Obliterates. There Is Little Distinct Left Without An Effort Of Memory, Then Indeed The Lights Are Rekindled For A Moment - But Who Can Be Sure That The Imagination Is Not The Torch-bearer?

For What Were All These Country Patriots Born? To Hunt, And Vote, And Raise The Price Of Corn?

To Have Joy, One Must Share It.