Hear Everything And Judge For Yourself

Nature Repairs Her Ravages,--repairs Them With Her Sunshine And With Human Labor.

This Is A Puzzling World, And Old Harry's Got A Finger In It.

Everybody Liked Better To Conjecture How The Thing Was, Than Simply To Know It; For Conjecture Soon Became More Confident Than Knowledge, And Had A More Liberal Allowance For The Incompatible.

Vague Memories Hang About The Mind Like Cobwebs.

A Human Life, I Think, Should Be Well Rooted In Some Spot Of A Native Land, Where It May Get The Love Of Tender Kinship For The Face Of Earth, For The Labors Men Go Forth To, For The Sounds And Accents That Haunt It, For Whatever Will Give That Early Home A Familiar, Unmistakable Difference Amidst The Future Widening Of Knowledge.