Nothing Is Pleasanter To Me Than Exploring

I See The Rainbow In The Sky, The Dew Upon The Grass; I See Them, And I Ask Not Why They Glimmer Or They Pass. With Folded Arms I Linger Not To Call Them Back; 'twere Vain: In This, Or In Some Other Spot, I Know They'll Shine Again.

Children Are What The Mothers Are.

Next In Criminality To Him Who Violates The Laws Of His Country, Is He Who Violates The Language.

A Critic Is Never Too Severe When He Only Detects The Faults Of An Author. But He Is Worse Than Too Severe When, In Consequence Of This Detection, Be Presumes To Place Himself On A Level With Genius.

How Sweet And Sacred Idleness Is!