Truth Is Quite Beyond The Reach Of

The Child Is Not Mine As The First Was, I Cannot Sing It To Rest, I Cannot Lift It Up Fatherly And Bliss It Upon My Breast; Yet It Lies In My Little One's Cradle And Sits In My Little One's Chair, And The Light Of The Heaven She's Gone To Transfigures Its Golden Hair.

It Is Singular How Impatient Men Are With Overpraise Of Others, How Patient Of Overpraise Of Themselves; And Yet The One Does Them No Injury, While The Other May Be Their Ruin.

That Best Academy, A Mother's Knee.

There Is No Bore We Dread Being Left Alone With So Much As Our Own Minds.

To Make The Common Marvelous Is The Test Of Genius.