All Work, Even Cotton-spinning, Is Noble; Work

Acorns Are Planted Silently By Some Unnoticed Breeze.

Eyes Bright, With Many Tears, Behind Them.

The Infinite, Absolute Character Of Virtue Has Passed Into A Finite, Conditional One; It Is No Longer A Worship Of The Beautiful And Good; But A Calculation Of The Profitable.

If There Be Not A Religious Element In The Relations Of Men, Such Relations Are Miserable And Doomed To Ruin.

May Blessings Be Upon The Head Of Cadmus, The Phoenicians, Or Whoever It Was That Invented Books.