The Smoking Flax Before It Burst To

The Happy Should Not Insist Too Much Upon Their Happiness In The Presence Of The Unhappy.

There's Nothing In This World So Sweet As Love. And Next To Love The Sweetest Thing Is Hate.

A Coquette Is A Young Lady Of More Beauty Than Sense, More Accomplishments Than Learning, More Charms Not Person Than Graces Of Mind, More Admirers Than Friends, Mole Fools Than Wise Men For Attendants.

God's Voice Was Not In The Earthquake, Not In The Fire, Nor The Storm, But It Was In The Whispering Breezes.

This Is The Forest Primeval. The Murmuring Pines And The Hemlocks, Bearded With Moss, And In Garments Green, Indistinct In The Twilight, Stand Like Druids Of Eld, With Voices Sad And Prophetic, Stand Like Harpers Hoar, With Beards That Rest On Their Bosoms. Loud From Its Rocky Caverns, The Deep-voiced Neighboring Ocean Speaks, And In Accents Disconsolate Answers The Wail Of The Forest.