The Mind Of Man Is Like A

When I Take Up A Book I Have Read Before, I Know What To Expect; The Satisfaction Is Not Lessened By Being Anticipated. I Shake Hands With, And Look Our Old Tried And Valued Friend In The Face,--compare Notes And Chat The Hour Away.

Whatever Interests Is Interesting.

A Knave Thinks Himself A Fool, All The Time He Is Not Making A Fool Of Some Other Person.

Books Let Us Into Their Souls And Lay Open To Us The Secrets Of Our Own.

The Pleasure Of Hating, Like A Poisonous Mineral, Eats Into The Heart Of Religion, And Turns It To Ranking Spleen And Bigotry; It Makes Patriotism An Excuse For Carrying Fire, Pestilence, And Famine Into Other Lands: It Leaves To Virtue Nothing But The Spirit Of Censoriousness.