Vulgar Souls Look Hastily And Superficially At

Nos Beaux Sentiments Ne Sont-ils Pas Les Poe Sies De La Volonte ? Aren't Our Best Feelings Poetry Of The Will?

This Coffee Falls Into Your Stomach, And Straightway There Is A General Commotion. Ideas Begin To Move Like The Battalions Of The Grand Army Of The Battlefield, And The Battle Takes Place. Things Remembered Arrive At Full Gallop, Ensuing To The Wind. The Light Cavalry Of Comparisons Deliver A Magnificent Deploying Charge, The Artillery Of Logic Hurry Up With Their Train And Ammunition, The Shafts Of With Start Up Like Sharpshooters. Similes Arise, The Paper Is Covered With Ink; For The Struggle Commences And Is Concluded With Torrents Of Black Water, Just As A Battle With Powder.

Necessity Is The Spur Of Genius.

If Those Who Are The Enemies Of Innocent Amusements Had The Direction Of The World, They Would Take Away The Spring, And Youth, The Former From The Year, The Latter From Human Life.

Genuine Sorrows Are Very Tranquil In Appearance In The Deep Bed They Have Dug For Themselves. But, Seeming To Slumber, They Corrode The Soul Like That Frightful Acid Which Penetrates Crystal.