Every Sunset Brings The Promise Of A

Friendship, Like The Immortality Of The Soul, Is Too Good To Be Believed.

The Love Of Novels Is The Preference Of Sentiment To The Senses.

The Hearing Ear Is Always Found Close To The Speaking Tongue; And No Genius Can Long Or Often Utter Anything Which Is Not Invited And Gladly Entertained By Men Around Him.

Four Snakes Gliding Up And Down A Hollow For No Purpose That I Could See - Not To Eat, Not For Love, But Only Gliding.

The Mind Does Not Create What It Perceives, Any More Than The Eye Creates The Rose.