The Deafest Man Can Hear Praise, And

Democracy Is Always The Work Of Kings. Ashes, Which In Themselves Are Sterile, Fertilize The Land They Are Cast Upon.

Old Trees In Their Living State Are The Only Things That Money Cannot Command.

But I Have Sinuous Shells Of Pearly Hue Within, And They That Lustre Have Imbibed In The Sun's Palace-porch, Where When Unyoked Chariot-wheel Stands Midway In The Wave: Shake One, And It Awakens; Then Apply Its Polisht Lips To Your Attentive Ear, And It Remembers Its August Abodes, And Murmurs As The Ocean Murmurs There.

An Ingenuous Mind Feels In Unmerited Praise The Bitterest Reproof. If You Reject It You Are Unhappy, If You Accept It You Are Undone.

I Warmed Both Hands Before The Fire Of Life; It Sinks, And I Am Ready To Depart.