Who Speaks The Truth Stabs Falsehood To

Solitude Is As Needful To The Imagination As Society Is Wholesome For The Character.

Books Are The Bees Which Carry The Quickening Pollen From One To Another Mind.

The Foolish And The Dead Alone Never Change Their Opinions.

There Is No Work Of Genius Which Has Not Been The Delight Of Mankind, No Word Of Genius To Which The Human Heart And Soul Have Not Sooner Or Later Responded.

Nature, They Say, Doth Dote, And Cannot Make A Man Save On Some Worn-out Plan Repeating Us By Rote: For Him Her Old World Moulds Aside She Threw And, Choosing Sweet Clay From The Breast Of The Unexhausted West, With Stuff Untainted Shaped A Hero New.