There Is A Majestic Grandeur In Tranquillity.

One Point Is Certain, That Truth Is One And Immutable; Until The Jurors All Agree, They Cannot All Be Right.

Critics Are A Kind Of Freebooters In The Republic Of Letters--who, Like Deer, Goats And Divers Other Graminivorous Animals, Gain Subsistence By Gorging Upon Buds And Leaves Of The Young Shrubs Of The Forest, Thereby Robbing Them Of Their Verdure, And Retarding Their Progress To Maturity.

There Is A Sacredness In Tears. They Are Not The Mark Of Weakness, But Of Power.

Other Men Are Known To Posterity Only Through The Medium Of History, Which Is Continually Growing Faint And Obscure; But The Intercourse Between The Author And His Fellow-men Is Ever New, Active, And Immediate.

There Is In Every True Woman's Heart, A Spark Of Heavenly Fire, Which Lies Dormant In The Broad Daylight Of Prosperity, But Which Kindles Up And Beams And Blazes In The Dark Hour Of Adversity.