Wit Is The Clash And Reconcilement Of

Those Who Have Lost An Infant Are Never, As It Were, Without An Infant Child. Their Other Children Grow Up To Manhood And Womanhood, And Suffer All The Changes Of Mortality; But This One Alone Is Rendered An Immortal Child; For Death Has Arrested It With His Kindly Harshness, And Blessed It Into An Eternal Image Of Youth And Innocence.

Happy Opinions Are The Wine Of The Heart.

Fishes Do Not Roar; They Cannot Express Any Sound Of Suffering; And Therefore The Angler Chooses To Think They Do Not Suffer, More Than It Is Convenient For Him To Fancy. Now It Is A Poor Sport That Depends For Its Existence On The Want Of A Voice In The Sufferer, And Of Imagination In The Sportsman.

Beauty Too Often Sacrifices To Fashion. The Spirit Of Fashion Is Not The Beautiful, But The Wilful; Not The Graceful, But The Fantastic; Not The Superior In The Abstract, But The Superior In The Worst Of All Concretes,-the Vulgar.

We Lose In Depth Of Expression When We Go To Inferior Animals For Comparisons With Human Beauty. Homer Calls Juno Ox-eyed; And The Epithet Suits Well With The Eyes Of That Goddess, Because She May Be Supposed, With All Her Beauty, To Want A Certain Humanity. Her Large Eyes Look At You With A Royal Indifference.