If A Man Could Say Nothing Against

Hope Is An Amusement Rather Than A Good, And Adapted To None But Very Tranquil Minds.

In The Condition Of Men, It Frequently Happens That Grief And Anxiety Lie Hid Under The Golden Robes Of Prosperity; And The Gloom Of Calamity Is Cheered By Secret Radiations Of Hope And Comfort; As In The Works Of Nature, The Bog Is Sometimes Covered With Flowers, And The Mine Concealed In The Barren Crags.

Babies Do Not Want To Hear About Babies; They Like To Be Told Of Giants And Castles.

As Any Action Or Posture, Long Continued, Will Distort And Disfigure The Limbs, So The Mind Likewise Is Crippled And Contracted By Perpetual Application To The Same Set Of Ideas.

The Necessities Of Our Condition Require A Thousand Offices Of Tenderness, Which Mere Regard For The Species Will Never Dictate.