The Loveliest Hair Is Nothing, If The

Wit Is The Clash And Reconcilement Of Incongruities; The Meeting Of Extremes Round A Corner.

This Garden Has A Soul, I Know Its Moods.

Table Talk, To Be Perfect, Should Be Sincere Without Bigotry, Differing Without Discord, Sometimes Grave, Always Agreeable, Touching On Deep Points, Dwelling Most On Seasonable Ones, And Letting Everybody Speak And Be Heard.

A Dog Can Have A Friend; He Has Affections And Character, He Can Enjoy Equally The Field And The Fireside; He Dreams, He Caresses, He Propitiates; He Offends, And Is Pardoned; He Stands By You In Adversity; He Is A Good Fellow.

The Drama Is Not A Mere Copy Of Nature, Not A Facsimile. It Is The Free Running Hand Of Genius, Under The Impression Of Its Liveliest Wit Or Most Passionate Impulses, A Thousand Times Adorning Or Feeling All As It Goes; And You Must Read It, As The Healthy Instinct Of Audiences Almost Always Does, If The Critics Will Let Them Alone, With A Grain Of Allowance, And A Tendency To Go Away With As Much Of It For Use As Is Necessary, And The Rest For The Luxury Of Laughter, Pity, Or Poetical Admiration.