Wondrous Strong Are The Spells Of Fiction.

Ah, How Skillful Grows The Hand That Obeyeth Love's Command! It Is The Heart, And Not The Brain, That To The Highest Doth Attain, And He Who Followeth Love's Behest Far Excelleth All The Rest!

Tis Always Morning Somewhere.

Books Are Sepulchres Of Thought.

And So We Plough Along, As The Fly Said To The Ox.

Men Of Genius Are Often Dull And Inert In Society; As The Blazing Meteor, When It Descends To Earth, Is Only A Stone.