I'd Like To Grow Very Old As

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

A Sweet Child Is The Sweetest Thing In Nature.

Much Depends Upon When And Where You Read A Book. In The Five Or Six Impatient Minutes Before The Dinner Is Quite Ready, Who Would Think Of Taking Up The Faerie Queen For A Stopgap, Or A Volume Of Bishop Andrews's Sermons?

I Toiled After It, Sir, As Some Men Toil After Virtue.

Go Where Glory Waits Thee! But While Fame Elates Thee, Oh, Still Remember Me!