It Merely Shews, After All,

We Are Rarely Wrong When We Act From Impulse.

Strange Mystery Of Our Nature, That Those In Whom Genius Develops Itself In Imagination, Thus Taking Its Most Ethereal Form, Should Yet Be The Most Dependent On The Opinions Of Others!

Toil Is The Portion Of Day, As Sleep Is That Of Night; But If There Be One Hour Of The Twenty-four Which Has The Life Of Day Without Its Labor, And The Rest Of Night Without Its Slumber, It Is The Lovely And Languid Hour Of Twilight.

Youth Is A Season That Has No Repose.

It Is Said That Ridicule Is The Test Of Truth; But It Is Never Applied Except When We Wish To Deceive Ourselves - When If We Cannot Exclude The Light, We Would Fain Draw The Curtain Before It. The Sneer Springs Out Of The Wish To Deny; And Wretched Must That State Of Mind Be, That Wishes To Take Refuge In Doubt.