I Consider A Story Merely As A

Society Is Like A Lawn, Where Every Roughness Is Smoothed, Every Bramble Eradicated, And Where The Eye Is Delighted By The Smiling Verdure Of A Velvet Surface

There Is A Serene And Settled Majesty To Woodland Scenery That Enters Into The Soul And Delights And Elevates It, And Fills It With Noble Inclinations.

It's A Fair Wind That Blew Men To Ale.

Washington, In Fact, Had Very Little Private Life, But Was Eminently A Public Character.

Critics Are A Kind Of Freebooters In The Republic Of Letters--who, Like Deer, Goats And Divers Other Graminivorous Animals, Gain Subsistence By Gorging Upon Buds And Leaves Of The Young Shrubs Of The Forest, Thereby Robbing Them Of Their Verdure, And Retarding Their Progress To Maturity.