The Past Is Perpetual Youth

We Are Ourselves The Stumbling-blocks In The Way Of Our Happiness. Place A Common Individual - By Common, I Mean With The Common Share Of Stupidity, Custom, And Discontent - Place Him In The Garden Of Eden, And He Would Not Find It Out Unless He Were Told, And When Told, He Would Not Believe It.

Anybody's Applause Is Better Than Nobody's.

I Hate The Word 'ought' - It Always Implies Something Dull, Cold, And Commonplace. The 'ought Nots' Of Life Are Its Pleasantest Things.

Youth, Balancing Itself Upon Hope, Is Forever In Extremes: Its Expectations Are Continually Aroused Only To Be Baffled, And Disappointment, Like A Summer Shower, Is Violent In Proportion To Its Brevity.

We Would Liken Music To Aladdin's Lamp — Worthless In Itself, Not So For The Spirits Which Obey Its Call. We Love It For The Buried Hopes, The Garnered Memories, The Tender Feelings, It Can Summon With A Touch.