There Are No Rules For Felicity.

Dirt Has Been Shrewdly Termed "misplaced Material.

Every Body Drags Its Shadow, And Every Mind Its Doubt.

A Bird Sings, A Child Prattles, But It Is The Same Hymn; Hymn Indistinct, Inarticulate, But Full Of Profound Meaning.

Thought Is The Work Of The Intellect, Reverie Is Its Self-indulgence. To Substitute Day-dreaming For Thought Is To Confuse A Poison With A Source Of Nourishment.

Nothing Awakens Reminiscence Like An Aroma.