Poetry Is The Breath Of

Fishes Do Not Roar; They Cannot Express Any Sound Of Suffering; And Therefore The Angler Chooses To Think They Do Not Suffer, More Than It Is Convenient For Him To Fancy. Now It Is A Poor Sport That Depends For Its Existence On The Want Of A Voice In The Sufferer, And Of Imagination In The Sportsman.

May Exalting And Humanizing Thoughts Forever Accompany Me, Making Me Confident Without Pride, And Modest Without Servility.

The Perfection Of Conversational Intercourse Is When The Breeding Of High Life Is Animated By The Fervor Of Genius.

The Only Place A New Hat Can Be Carried Into With Safety Is A Church, For There Is Plenty Of Room There.

"books ... Books, ..." He Exclaims. It Is Those That Teach Us To Refine On Our Pleasures When Young, And Which, Having So Taught Us, Enable Us To Recall Them With Satisfaction When Old.