Curiosity Is Its Own Suicide.

The Old Proverb, Applied To Fire And Water, May With Equal Truth Be Applied To The Imagination - It Is A Good Servant, But A Bad Master.

So Much To Win, So Much To Lose, No Marvel That I Fear To Choose.

The Past Is Perpetual Youth To The Heart.

Of All False Assertions That Ever Went Into The World Under The Banner Of A Great Name And The Mail Armor Of A Well-turned Phrase, Locke's Comparison Of The Mind To A Blank Sheet Of Paper Appears To Me Among The Most Untrue.

A Blossom Full Of Promise Is Life's Joy, That Never Comes To Fruit. Hope, For A Time, Suns The Young Floweret In Its Gladsome Light, And It Looks Flourishing--a Little While-- 't Is Pass'd, We Know Not Whither, But 't Is Gone.