If You Are Melancholy For

Poetry Is The Breath Of Beauty.

Great Women Belong To History And To Self-sacrifice, Not To The Annals Of A Stage, However Dignified.

Nature, At All Events, Humanly Speaking, Is Manifestly Very Fond Of Color; For She Has Made Nothing Without It. Her Skies Are Blue; Her Fields, Green; Her Waters Vary With Her Skies; Her Animals, Vegetables, Minerals, Are All Colored. She Paints A Great Any Of Them In Apparently Superfluous Hues, As If To Show The Dullest Eye How She Loves Color.

Night's Deepest Gloom Is But A Calm; That Soothes The Weary Mind: The Labored Days Restoring Balm; The Comfort Of Mankind.

God Made Both Tears And Laughter, And Both For Kind Purposes; For As Laughter Enables Mirth And Surprise To Breathe Freely, So Tears Enable Sorrow To Vent Itself Patiently. Tears Hinder Sorrow From Becoming Despair And Madness.