There Is A Joy In Sorrow Which

I Would Rather Dwell In The Dim Fog Of Superstition Than In Air Rarefied To Nothing By The Air-pump Of Unbelief-in Which The Panting Breast Expires, Vainly And Convulsively Gasping For Breath.

Beauty Attracts Us Men; But If, Like An Armed Magnet It Is Pointed, Beside, With Gold And Silver, It Attracts With Tenfold Power.

A Loving Maiden Grows Unconsciously More Bold.

The Look Of A King Is Itself A Deed.

How Narrow Our Souls Become When Absorbed In Any Present Good Or Ill! It Is Only The Thought Of The Future That Makes Them Great.