Wondrous Strong Are The Spells Of Fiction.

Thought Takes Man Out Of Servitude, Into Freedom.

The Mind Of The Scholar, If You Would Have It Large And Liberal, Should Come In Contact With Other Minds. It Is Better That His Armor Should Be Somewhat Bruised By Rude Encounters Even, Than Hang Forever Rusting On The Wall.

Fear Is The Virtue Of Slaves; But The Heart That Loveth Is Willing.

Thinking The Deed, And Not The Creed, Would Help Us In Our Utmost Need.

I Like That Ancient Saxon Phrase, Which Calls The Burial-ground God's-acre! It Is Just; It Consecrates Each Grave Within Its Walls, And Breathes A Benison O'er The Sleeping Dust.