Cleanse The Fountain If You Would Purify

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

The Finer Literature, Indeed, Is Characterized By A Certain Suffusion Of The Feminine Flavor, The Finer, The More Ideal, Thought Plumed With Sentiment; Even Science Loves To Spring From Its Feet, Philosophy Affect The Clouds To Inspire And Edify.

Our Friends Interpret The World And Ourselves To Us, If We Take Them Tenderly And Truly.

The Best Teachers Don't Allow Their Own Personal Views To Influence Their Teaching.

Many Are Those Who Can Argue; Few Are Those Who Can Converse