This Cabin, Mary, In My

Existence Is A Strange Bargain. Life Owes Us Little; We Owe It Everything. The Only True Happiness Comes From Squandering Ourselves For A Purpose.

Friends, Books, A Garden, And Perhaps His Pen, Delightful Industry Enjoy'd At Home, An Nature, In Her Cultivated Trim Dress'ed To His Taste, Inviting Him Abroad - Can He Want Occupation Who Has These?

Truth Is The Golden Girdle Of The Globe.

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.

The Mind, Relaxing Into Needful Sport, Should Turn To Writers Of An Abler Sort, Whose Wit Well Managed, And Whose Classic Style, Give Truth A Lustre, And Make Wisdom Smile.