The Heart Contracts As The Pocket Expands.

A Genuine Passion Is Like A Mountain Stream; It Admits Of No Impediment; It Cannot Go Backward; It Must Go Forward.

Perhaps The Heroic Element In Our Natures Is Exhibited To The Best Advantage, Not In Going From Success To Success, And So On Through A Series Of Triumphs, But In Gathering, On The Very Field Of Defeat Itself, The Materials For Renewed Efforts, And In Proceeding, With No Abatement Of Heart Or Energy, To Form Fresh Designs Upon The Very Ruins And Ashes Of Blasted Hopes. Yes, It Is This Indomitable Persistence In A Purpose, Continued Alike Through Defeat And Success, That Makes, More Than Aught Else, The Hero.

In General, Inquiry Ceases When We Adopt A Theory. After That, We Overlook Whatever Makes Against It, And See And Think, And Talk And Write, Only In Its Favor. Indeed, When We Have A Snug, Comfortable Theory, To Which We Are Much Attached, They Appear To Us As A Very Mean Set Of Facts That Will Not Square With It.

None But Those Who Have Loved Can Be Supposed To Understand The Oratory Of The Eye, The Mute Eloquence Of A Look, Or The Conversational Powers Of The Face. Love's Sweetest Meanings Are Unspoken; The Full Heart Knows No Rhetoric Of Words, And Resorts To The Pantomime Of Sighs And Glances.

The Cause Of Laziness Is Physiological; It Is An Infirmity Of The Constitution, And Its Victim Is As Much To Be Pitied As A Sufferer From Any Other Constitutional Infirmity. It Is Even Worse Than Many Other Diseases; From Them The Patient May Recover, While This Is Incurable.