They Who Drink Beer Will Think Beer.

There Is An Enduring Tenderness In The Love Of A Mother To A Son That Trancends All Other Affections Of The Heart

I Have Often Had Occasion To Remark The Fortitude With Which Women Sustain The Most Overwhelming Reverses Of Fortunes.

The Moan Of The Whip-poor-will From The Hillside; The Boding Cry Of The Tree-toad, That Harbinger Of Storm; The Dreary Hooting Of The Screechowl.

The Literary World Is Made Up Of Little Confederacies, Each Looking Upon Its Own Members As The Lights Of The Universe; And Considering All Others As Mere Transient Meteors, Doomed To Soon Fall And Be Forgotten, While Its Own Luminaries Are To Shine Steadily Into Immortality.

The Sorrow For The Dead Is The Only Sorrow From Which We Refuse To Be Divorced.