Poetry Is The Breath Of Beauty.

It Is A Delicious Moment, Certainly, That Of Being Well Nestled In Bed, And Feeling That You Shall Drop Gently To Sleep. The Good Is To Come, Not Past; The Limbs Have Just Been Tired Enough To Render The Remaining In One Posture Delightful; The Labour Of The Day Is Gone

Occupation Is The Necessary Basis Of All Enjoyment.

When Goethe Says That In Every Human Condition Foes Lie In Wait For Us, "invincible Only By Cheerfulness And Equanimity," He Does Not Mean That We Can At All Times Be Really Cheerful, Or At A Moment's Notice; But That The Endeavor To Look At The Better Side Of Things Will Produce The Habit, And That This Habit Is The Surest Safeguard Against The Danger Of Sudden Evils.

Light Is, Perhaps, The Most Wonderful Of All Visible Things.

Words Are Often Things Also, And Very Precious, Especially On The Gravest Occasions. Without "words," And The Truth Of Things That Is In Them, What Were We?