A Tart Temper Never Mellows With Age,

The Love Of A Mother Is Never Exhausted. It Never Changes - It Never Tires - It Endures Through All; In Good Repute, In Bad Repute. In The Face Of The World's Condemnation, A Mother's Love Still Lives On.

There Is No Character In The Comedy Of Human Life More Difficult To Play Well Than That Of An Old Bachelor.

It Is The Divine Attribute Of The Imagination, That It Is Irrepressible, Unconfinable; That When The Real World Is Shut Out, It Can Create A World For Itself, And With A Necromantic Power Can Conjure Up Glorious Shapes And Forms, And Brilliant Visions To Make Solitude Populous, And Irradiate The Gloom Of A Dungeon.

Nature Seems To Delight In Disappointing The Assiduities Of Art, With Which It Would Rear Legitimate Dulness To Maturity; And To Glory In The Vigour And Luxuriance Of Her Chance Productions.

There Is A Serene And Settled Majesty To Woodland Scenery That Enters Into The Soul And Delights And Elevates It, And Fills It With Noble Inclinations.