Hope Is The Mother Of Faith.

Great Men Too Often Have Greater Faults Than Little Men Can Find Room For.

I See The Rainbow In The Sky, The Dew Upon The Grass; I See Them, And I Ask Not Why They Glimmer Or They Pass. With Folded Arms I Linger Not To Call Them Back; 'twere Vain: In This, Or In Some Other Spot, I Know They'll Shine Again.

He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against Truth Finds In His Hand A Blade Without A Hilt. The Most Sparkling And Pointed Flame Of Wit Flickers And Expires Against The Incombustible Walls Of Her Sanctuary.

Clear Writers, Like Fountains, Do Not Seem So Deep As They Are; The Turbid Look The Most Profound.

Authors Are Like Cattle Going To A Fair: Those Of The Same Field Can Never Move On Without Butting One Another.