Too Much Society Makes A Man Frivolous;

We Give Our Best Affections To The Beautiful, Only Our Second Best To The Useful.

God, We Are Told, Looked Upon The World After He Had Created It And Pronounced It Good; But Ascetic Pietists, In Their Wisdom, Cast Their Eyes Over It, And Substantially Pronounce It A Dead Failure, A Miserable Production, A Poor Concern.

The Activity Of The Young Is Like That Of Railcars In Motion--they Tear Along With Noise And Turmoil, And Leave Peace Behind Them. The Quietest Nooks, Invaded By Them, Lose Their Quietude As They Pass, And Recover It Only On Their Departure.

We May Learn From Children How Large A Part Of Our Grievances Is Imaginary. But The Pain Is Just As Real.

Truth, Like The Sun, Submits To Be Obscured; But, Like The Sun, Only For A Time.