Every Mortal Loss Is An

Mere Enthusiasm Is The All In All.

The Angel That Presided O'er My Birth Said, 'little Creature, Formed Of Joy And Mirth, Go Love Without The Help Of Any Thing On Earth'.

Every Night And Every Morn Some To Misery Are Born. Every Morn And Every Night Some Are Born To Sweet Delight, Some Are Born To Endless Night.

He Who Would Do Good To Another Must Do It In Minute Particulars: General Good Is The Plea Of The Scoundrel, Hypocrite, And Flatterer, For Art And Science Cannot Exist But In Minutely Organized Particulars.

Prudence Is A Rich, Ugly, Old Maid Courted By Incapacity.