The Brain Can Be Easy To Buy,

But Civlyzation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes Upon A Powder-cart.

Praise Follows Truth Afar Off, And Only Overtakes Her At The Grave; Plausibility Clings To Her Skirts And Holds Her Back Till Then

Fools, When Their Roof-tree Falls, Think It Doomsday.

Violet! Sweet Violet! Thine Eyes Are Full Of Tears; Are They Wet Even Yet With The Thought Of Other Years?

Mishaps Are Like Knives, That Either Serve Us Or Cut Us, As We Grasp Them By The Blade Or The Handle.