I Cannot Sit And Think; Books Think

When Thus The Heart Is In A Vein Of Tender Thought, The Simplest Strain Can Touch It With Peculiar Power.

Every Commonplace Or Trite Observation Is Not A Truism.

Summer, As My Friend Coleridge Waggishly Writes, Has Set In With Its Usual Severity.

When I Am Not Walking, I Am Reading. I Cannot Sit And Think.

We Gain Nothing By Being With Such As Ourselves. We Encourage One Another In Mediocrity. I Am Always Longing To Be With Men More Excellent Than Myself.