To Cultivate A Garden Is To Walk

Example Has More Followers Than Reason. We Unconsciously Imitate What Pleases Us, And Approximate To The Characters We Most Admire.

All Power Is Indeed Weak Compared With That Of The Thinker. He Sits Upon The Throne Of His Empire Of Thought, Mightier Far Than They Who Wield Material Sceptres.

Vanity In An Old Man Is Charming. It Is A Proof Of An Open, Nature. Eighty Winters Have Not Frozen Him Up, Or Taught Him Concealments. In A Young Person It Is Simply Allowable; We Do Not Expect Him To Be Above It.

What A Position Of Transcendent Horror Must That Be, Where The Perpetrator Of A Great Crime, Till Then A Stranger To Positive Guilt, Finds Himself Suddenly Cut Off, And Forever, From All Human Sympathy, Isolated From Hope, The Tenant Of A Solitary Cell, And With A Wide, Impassable Gulf Yawning Between Him And That Great Brotherhood Of Which He Has Ceased To Be A Part--no Longer Regarded As A Man, But As A Monster In The Shape Of One, From Whom Mercy Herself Turns Away, And For Whom Pity Even Has No Tears!

Wit Must Be Without Effort. Wit Is Play, Not Work; A Nimbleness Of The Fancy, Not A Laborious Effort Of The Will; A License, A Holiday, A Carnival Of Thought And Feeling, Not A Trifling With Speech, A Constraint Upon Language, A Duress Upon Words.