Time Is The Life Of The Soul.

Truly, This World Can Go On Without Us, If We Would But Think So.

Winter Giveth The Fields, And The Trees So Old, Their Beards Of Icicles And Snow.

Every Author Has The Whole Past To Contend With; All The Centuries Are Upon Him. He Is Compared With Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton.

No Endeavour Is In Vain; Its Reward Is In The Doing.

We Often Excuse Our Own Want Of Philanthropy By Giving The Name Of Fanaticism To The More Ardent Zeal Of Others.