Waiting For The Spark From

Most Men In A Brazen Prison Live, Where, In The Sun's Hot Eye, With Heads Bent O'er Their Toil, They Languidly Their Lives To Some Unmeaning Taskwork Give, Dreaming Of Nought Beyond Their Prison-wall.

The World Hath Failed To Impart The Joy Our Youth Forebodes; Failed To Fill Up The Void Which In Our Breasts We Bear.

Genius Is Mainly An Affair Of Energy.

What Actions Are The Most Excellent? Those, Certainly, Which Most Powerfully Appeal To The Great Primary Human Affections: To Those Elementary Feelings Which Subsist Permanently In The Race, And Which Are Independent Of Time. These Feelings Are Permanent And The Same; That Which Interests Them Is Permanent And The Same Also.

Sanity -- That Is The Great Virtue Of The Ancient Literature; The Want Of That Is The Great Defect Of The Modern, In Spite Of Its Variety And Power.