Music Is The Medicine Of The Breaking

Oh For A Seat In Some Poetic Nook, Just Hid With Trees And Sparkling With A Brook!

Anglers Boast Of The Innocence Of Their Pastime; Yet It Puts Fellow-creatures To The Torture. They Pique Themselves On Their Meditative Faculties; And Yet Their Only Excuse Is A Want Of Thought.

Christmas Is The Glorious Time Of Great Too-much.

The Last Excessive Feelings Of Delight Are Always Grave.

Beauty Too Often Sacrifices To Fashion. The Spirit Of Fashion Is Not The Beautiful, But The Wilful; Not The Graceful, But The Fantastic; Not The Superior In The Abstract, But The Superior In The Worst Of All Concretes,-the Vulgar.