Feelings Of Man Are Always Pure And

I Would Rather Dwell In The Dim Fog Of Superstition Than In Air Rarefied To Nothing By The Air-pump Of Unbelief-in Which The Panting Breast Expires, Vainly And Convulsively Gasping For Breath.

The Gymnasium Of Running, Walking On Stilts, Climbing, Etc. Stells And Makes Hardy Single Powers And Muscles, But Dancing, Like A Corporeal Poesy, Embellishes, Exercises, And Equalizes All The Muscles At Once.

With So Many Thousand Joys, Is It Not Black Ingratitude To Call The World A Place Of Sorrow And Torment?

People Will Not Bear It When Advice Is Violently Given, Even If It Is Well Founded. Hearts Are Flowers; They Remain Open To The Softly Falling Dew, But Shut Up In The Violent Downpour Of Rain.

It Is Easy To Flatter; It Is Harder To Praise.