Liberty Lends Us Her Wings And Hope

If You Like Poetry Let It Be First Rate, Milton, Shakespeare, Thomson, Goldsmith Pope (if You Will Though I Don't Admire Him), Scott, Byron, Campbell, Wordsworth And Southey. Now Ellen Don't Be Startled At The Names Of Shakespeare, And Byron. Both These Were Great Men And Their Works Are Like Themselves, You Will Know How To Chuse The Good And Avoid The Evil, The Finestpassages Are Always The Purest, The Bad Are Invariably Revolting You Will Never Wish To Read Them Over Twice.

God Surely Did Not Create Us, And Cause Us To Live, With The Sole End Of Wishing Always To Die. I Believe, In My Heart, We Were Intended To Prize Life And Enjoy It, So Long As We Retain It. Existence Never Was Originally Meant To Be That Useless, Blank, Pale, Slow-trailing Thing It Often Becomes To Many, And Is Becoming To Me, Among The Rest.

Friends Always Forget Those Whom Fortune Forsakes.

In Sunshine, In Prosperity, The Flowers Are Very Well; But How Many Wet Days Are There In Life—november Seasons Of Disaster, When A Man's Hearth And Home Would Be Cold Indeed, Without The Clear, Cheering Gleam Of Intellect.

The Writer Who Possesses The Creative Gift Owns Something Of Which He Is Not Always Master - Something That, At Times, Strangely Wills And Works For Itself.