Genius Is Its Own End.

O Day Of Days When We Can Read! The Reader And The Book, Either Without The Other Is Naught.

My Life Is Superficial, Takes No Root In The Deep World; I Ask, When Shall I Die, And Be Relieved Of The Responsibility Of Seeinga Universe Which I Do Not Use? I Wish To Exchange This Flash-of-lightning Faith For Continuous Daylight, This Fever-glow For A Benign Climate.

Many Might Go To Heaven With Half The Labor They Go To Hell.

Life Is Not So Short But That There Is Always Time Enough For Courtesy.

It Is The Quality Of The Moment, Not The Number Of Days, Or Events, Or Of Actors, That Imports.