The Dictates Of The Heart Are The

Even Weak Men When United Are Powerful.

Great Souls Suffer In Silence.

No Doubt The Artist Is The Child Of His Time; But Woe To Him If He Is Also Its Disciple, Or Even Its Favorite.

Even Now, Nature Is The Only Flame, On Which The Poetic Spirit Feeds; From It Alone It Draws All Its Power, To It Alone It Speaks Even In The Artificial, In The Man Engaged In Culture.

Intellect--brain Force.