It Is Curious How Inseparable Eating And

How Beautiful, Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning! The First Sunshine On The Leaves: The First Wind, Laden With The First Breath Of The Flowers—that Deep Sigh With Which They Seem To Waken From Sleep; The First Dew, Untouched Even By The Light Foot Of The Early Hare; The First Chirping Of The Rousing Birds, As If Eager To Begin Song And Flight; All Is Redolent Of The Strength Given By Rest, And The Joy Of Conscious Life.

The Truth Is, We Never Make For Others The Allowance We Make For Ourselves; And We Should Deny Even Our Own Words, Could We Hear Them Spoken By Another.

Conscience, Like A Child, Is Soon Lulled To Sleep.

It Is A Curious Fact, But A Fact It Is, That Your Witty People Are The Most Hard-hearted In The World. The Truth Is, Fancy Destroys Feeling. The Quick Eye To The Ridiculous Turns Every Thing To The Absurd Side; And The Neat Sentence, The Lively Allusion, And The Odd Simile, Invest What They Touch With Something Of Their Own Buoyant Nature. Humor Is Of The Heart, And Has Its Tears; But Wit Is Of The Head, And Has Only Smiles - And The Majority Of Those Are Bitter.

It Is Said That Ridicule Is The Test Of Truth; But It Is Never Applied Except When We Wish To Deceive Ourselves - When If We Cannot Exclude The Light, We Would Fain Draw The Curtain Before It. The Sneer Springs Out Of The Wish To Deny; And Wretched Must That State Of Mind Be, That Wishes To Take Refuge In Doubt.