Our Faults Are Apt To Assume Giant

How Dreadful It Is, To Emerge From The Oblivion Of Slumber, And To Receive As A Good Morrow The Mute Wailing Of One's Own Hapless Heart - To Return From The Land Of Deceptive Dreams To The Heavy Knowledge Of Unchanged Disaster!

The Air Of Fashion, Which Many Young People Are So Eager To Attain, Always Strikes Me Like The Studied Attitudes Of Some Modern Prints, Copied With Tasteless Servility After The Antigue; The Soul Is Left Out, And None Of The Parts Are Tied Together By What May Properly Be Termed Character.

A Truce To Philosophy!—life Is Before Me, And I Rush Into Possession. Hope, Glory, Love, And Blameless Ambition Are My Guides, And My Soul Knows No Dread. What Has Been, Though Sweet, Is Gone; The Present Is Good Only Because It Is About To Change, And The To Come Is All My Own.

Her Countenance Was All Expression; Her Eyes Were Not Dark But Impenetrably Deep; You Seemed To Discover Space After Space In Their Intellectual Glance.

Poetry, And The Principle Of Self, Of Which Money Is The Visible Incarnation, Are The God And The Mammon Of The World.