None But Blockheads Copy Each Other.

When Sir Joshua Reynolds Died All Nature Was Degraded; The King Dropped A Tear In The Queen's Ear, And All His Pictures Faded.

I Was In A Printing-house In Hell, And Saw The Method In Which Knowledge Is Transmitted From Generation To Generation.

The Pure Soul Shall Mount On Native Wings, . . . And Cut A Path Into The Heaven Of Glory.

Each Man Must Create His Own System Or Else He Is A Slave To Another Mans

The World Of Imagination Is The World Of Eternity.