An Acre In Middlesex Is Better Than

Forget All Feuds, And Shed One English Tear O'er English Dust. A Broken Heart Lies Here.

The Merit Of Poetry, In Its Wildest Forms, Still Consists In Its Truth-truth Conveyed To The Understanding, Not Directly By The Words, But Circuitously By Means Of Imaginative Associations, Which Serve As Its Conductors.

Scotland By No Means Escaped The Fate Ordained For Every Country Which Is Connected, But Not Incorporated, With Another Country Of Greater Resources.

If The Sunday Had Not Been Observed As A Day Of Rest During The Last Three Centuries, I Have Not The Slightest Doubt That We Should Have Been At This Moment A Poorer People And Less Civilized.

A Kind Of Semi-solomon, Half-knowing Everything, From The Cedar To The Hyssop.