Children Are What The Mothers Are.

It Appears To Be Among The Laws Of Nature, That The Mighty Of Intellect Should Be Pursued And Carped By The Little, As The Solitary Flight Of One Great Bird Is Followed By The Twittering Petulance Of Many Smaller.

Every Good Writer Has Much Idiom; It Is The Life And Spirit Of Language.

The Habit Of Pleasing By Flattery Makes A Language Soft; The Fear Of Offending By Truth Makes It Circuitous And Conventional.

It Is Delightful To Kiss The Eyelashes Of The Beloved--is It Not? But Never So Delightful As When Fresh Tears Are On Them.

Was Genius Ever Ungrateful? Mere Talents Are Dry Leaves, Tossed Up And Down By Gusts Of Passion, And Scattered And Swept Away; But, Genius Lies On The Bosom Of Memory, And Gratitude At Her Feet.